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CHARCOAL SKETCHES 

STORIES OF THEJPRESENT-DAY 
SOUTHERN NEGRO 

























































Copyright, 1 928 
By Katharine S. Ayres 


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FOREWORD 


In the many stories of the colored folk of the 
South, the small-town descendants of the faith¬ 
ful servitors of Kentucky’s aristocracy, have 
been somewhat neglected. The kindly, child¬ 
like nature, which is their rich heritage, is de¬ 
serving of eloquent portrayal and the author 
hopes that these “Charcoal Sketches” will be 
read in the spirit in which they are written. 




“Exhibit A”— A Sketch of Every-day Negro Life _ n 

Watch That Snake— A Little Tale of the Small- 

Town Kentucky Negro _ 22 

Entry Thirteen_ 34 

Uncle Mose's Hants_ 54 

The Jigger Man_ 69 

Ask Darwin_;_ 79 

Luck in Religion_ 89 

The Man in the Car_ 100 

The Wise and Foolish Virgins _ no 

The Universal Language— A Romance of the 

Old South _ 121 

The Uncertain Dead_138 













CHARCOAL SKETCHES 

STORIES OF THE PRESENT-DAY 
SOUTHERN NEGRO 


“EXHIBIT A” 

A Sketch of Every-day Negro Life 

“D E ole time ’ligin’s good ’nough fur me,” sang 
Aunt Viney, in her rich, melodious voice, as 
she busied herself about her work. 

Saturday was always a busy day in Judge Morri¬ 
son’s kitchen, and the black face of the worker was 
shining with pride at the visible success of her efforts. 

Aunt Viney’s reputation as a bountiful provider 
was well sustained by the great pans of beaten biscuit 
and snow-white cake she was turning out. Getting 
ready for Sunday was an affair of no small importance 
in her life. 

Faithfully she worked and cheerfully she sang. 

The kitchen door opened and a small child burst 
into the room. 

“Aunt Viney, give me some sweet cakes!” begged 
the little one. 

“Law’s a massy, chile, yo’ sho’ pesters me when 
I’se busy! Doan yo’ know dat Sadday ain’t no time 


( 11 ) 


12 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


ter come in heah axin’ fer cakes?” the woman an¬ 
swered chidingly. 

Her actions belied the severity of her tones, for 
she got the coveted cakes from the jar. Taking up 
a liberal handful, the kindly face of the old negro 
woman broke into a broad smile as she gave them 
into the hands of the much-beloved little daughter 
of her mistress. 

“Now, go ’long, honey, and doan worry me no 
mo’,” she said. Withdrawing her adoring eyes 
from the vanishing form of the little girl, Aunt 
Viney returned to her culinary duties and occupied 
herself the balance of the day. 

When the finishing touches of icing had been cere¬ 
moniously spread on the last cake, Aunt Viney began 
to get ready to go home. She was not without her 
customary bundle tucked under her arm. Great care 
had been taken that it should be as inconspicuous as 
possible, for like most helpers in the “white folks” 
kitchens, she was never anxious to attract any par¬ 
ticular attention as she wended her way homeward. 

The serene expression which she had worn, as she 
traversed the short distance to reach the alley where 
she lived, underwent, upon her arrival at her domi¬ 
cile, a complete change. A look of anxiety crossed 
her brow, although the sight which greeted her was 
not unusual. 


EXHIBIT A’ 


13 


On the front porch there lounged, in a chair well- 
tilted back, her liege lord, Sam, indolent, shiftless, 
a veritable thorn in the flesh of the hard-working 
wife. He was industriously engaged in whittling a 
stick, quite in contrast to his usual job of “jes’ set- 
tin . 

Aunt Viney bestowed upon Sam a look of plain 
disgust and crossed the porch to enter the house. 
She next proceeded to spread upon the table the con¬ 
tents of the bundle which had accompanied her home, 
then, returning to the door by which she had entered, 
her tolerant voice called, “Come on, Sam; yo’ sup¬ 
per’s ready.” 

Sam arose slowly, stretched himself, shuffled inside 
and sat down at the table. 

“Yo’ sho’ is one lazy nigger!” began his spouse. 
“Hear I’se been workin’ hard all day an’ yo’ ain’t 
even set yo’ plate fur supper. Some time yo’s gwine 
grow ter dat ere cheer; doan yo’ ever git tired o’ 
doin’ nuthin’?” she demanded. 

“Viney, I been doin’ somethin’. I ain’t feel extry. 
I wuz jes’ settin’ out thar takin’ a little fresh air!” 
Sam’s countenance assumed an aggrieved appearance. 

“Well,” replied his better half, “all I got ter say 
is, yo’ could git: as much fresh air weedin’ de garden, 
an’ it might improve yo’ health, too!” 

Sam’s sole reply was a contemptuous sniff. 


14 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


Supper continued in silence. After the evening 
meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, Sam’s 
drooping health revived. While Aunt Viney was 
further busied making her own little home kitchen 
as spotlessly shiny as she had left the Judge’s at 
the big house, Sam ambled off down town. So much 
was his health improved that he was soon able to 
join the other darkies, all bent upon the usual Satur¬ 
day night program of congregating on the main street 
of the village. 

Saturday night, in a Southern town, is not an 
event, it is an institution. Then, more than at any 
other time, does the Emancipation Act seem to be 
enforced, and woe unto the housekeeper who thought¬ 
lessly infringes by requiring a late supper on this 
night of nights. 

In contrast to the carefree temperament of Sam, 
was Aunt Viney, as she finished her work and pre¬ 
pared to go down town herself. Her grievances 
against Sam began to seethe within her bosom. Her 
patience with that “no ’count man” was getting near 
the ragged edge. 

“How kin I bring dat nigger to his senses? He’s 
smart ’nough at lovin’! Why can’t he do his part at 
workin’ too?” she mumbled. “I done talk myself 
ter death an’ it doan do no good,” she continued, 
while dressing, “but maybe I could skeer him some- 


“EXHIBIT A’ 


15 


how!” Meditating thus, Aunt Viney finally arrived 
at the stage of adjusting her hat. At this moment, 
while she stood before her cracked mirror, her eyes 
fell on her open purse on the dresser, and she made 
the startling discovery that her week’s wages were 
gone. Except for a nickel with a hole in it, which 
she was saving for Sunday collection, the purse was 
quite empty. 

“Jes’ lemme find dat nigger, Sam! Doan I know 
he done got my money? Ain’t been nobody in dis 
heah house ’ceptin him!” 

Aunt Viney got madder by the minute. Her wrath 
and indignation grew as she talked. 

“I’ll git him! He’ll sho’ find out he’s made er mis¬ 
take dis time!” Precipitately she started toward 
town. In vain, however, as she proceeded on her 
militant way did she scan the groups of happily, 
chatting negroes—her Sam was not visible. 

“Miss Viney sho’ has got somethin’ on her mind,” 
remarked one of her friends, as she passed —and she 
had! 

Unlike the illustrious Light Brigade, she looked 
well to the left and right. The candy store was her 
goal, and her instinct had guided her correctly. There, 
sure enough, at the soda fountain were seated a young 
negro girl and the truant husband, quite oblivious 
to the rest of the world. Upon this scene descended 
the irate Viney. 


16 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Thar yo’ is, yo’ no ’count nigger,” she called. 
“I’ll learn yo’ ter steal my money an’ spend it on 
some yaller gal!” whereupon she swept the feast to 
the floor and, taking the surprised Sam by the arm, 
marched him past throngs of amused friends, toward 
home. 

“He’ll suttinly git his!” said one of the specta¬ 
tors as they passed. Exactly what “his” was, kindly 
night shielded from solicitious neighbors. 

The less charitable light of breaking day could 
have revealed Sam in the yard, sleeping heavily. The 
whole community had long been familiar with the 
family troubles of Aunt Viney, and the next day this 
latest occurrence was repeated with some merriment 
at Judge Morrison’s dinner table. There was spec¬ 
ulation as to the exact form of punishment Viney 
would mete out to Sam for this latest offense. 

Monday opened the May term of court. Warm 
spring sunshine flooded the court room and revealed 
the dust-laden corners neglected, as usual, by the 
negro janitor. The room was pretty well filled by 
a crowd of idle curiosity seekers, as there was little 
of interest in the street outside. 

Judge Morrison, before whom all the petty cases 
were tried, lounged in his chair of state, anticipating 
numerous tiresome affairs to be brought under his 
jurisdiction. His rather serious face was lit by a 


“EXHIBIT A’ 


17 


kindly eye. The lines around his mouth expressed 
stern denunciation of the offender, but could, on oc¬ 
casion, be turned into appreciative humor. 

Now, having listened all morning to numerous 
trite affairs, the Judge was recalled to his present 
duties by the announcement of the clerk: “Next case 
—Smothers versus Smothers.” 

Judge Morrison brought his thoughts back from 
the bright sunshine without, and his lazy gaze rested 
upon the vision in front of him. A twinkle momen¬ 
tarily shown in the judicial eye as he surveyed the 
woman before the bench, in private life, the good 
angel of his kitchen. She now appeared before him as 
complainant in the case of “Smothers versus Smoth¬ 
ers.” 

Arrayed in all the finery usually kept for funerals 
and basket meetings, Aunt Viney, the fully conscious 
cynosure of all eyes, strutted rather then walked, to 
the seat assigned her. Her dark blue skirt and yel¬ 
low waist were offset by a worn lace collar and a 
string of green glass beads. Her head was crowned 
by what, at first glance, appeared to be a spring salad, 
but on closer scrutiny revealed itself as a green straw 
hat garnished with tomato-colored flowers and leaves. 

In striking contrast to her festive personality, was 
her husband. In dirty jeans and a blue and white 
jumper, he sat nervously fingering a worn felt hat. 


18 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


Sam Smothers viewed his resplendent spouse with 
no degree of assurance. He tenderly rubbed a tell¬ 
tale bruise around his right eye while he noted the 
determined look on Aunt Viney’s face and then set¬ 
tled himself resignedly in his chair. 

“Case of Viney Smothers versus Sam Smothers, 
charges being: non-support, unfaithfulness and cru¬ 
elty,” read the clerk. A hush fell on the court room, 
and Aunt Viney was duly sworn in. 

Then the Judge, looking down at her in a kindly 
manner, asked, “Now Aunt Viney, what do you 
charge to Sam?” 

“I doan charge nuthin’ ter Sam, Marse Jedge; ef 
I did, he couldn’t pay fer it!” 

There was a noticeable shaking of shoulders in the 
court room crowd and the Judge was suddenly 
bothered with a cough. 

“Well, I mean,” continued the Judge, “what com¬ 
plaint do you make against him?” 

Aunt Viney looked at Judge Morrison, then 
turned a withering eye on Sam. The last named 
gentleman seemed to shrink in his chair and assume 
smaller proportions, while his better half, without 
removing her accusing eye from him, burst into an 
eloquent recital of her grievances. She told of her 
working and saving; she spoke of her patience and 
humiliation. 


EXHIBIT A” 


19 


“I tell yo’, Jedge,” she continued dramatically, 
emphasizing her remarks with a vigorous shake of 
head, “Sam’s one o’ dese heah c’melion kind o’ 
niggers—one day he’s one thing, next day he’s some¬ 
thin’ else. Jes’ like them c’melions, too, he likes to 
lay hisse’f out in de sun an’ res’, while somebody else 
gets him his vittles an’ ’tends like he’s tired an’ not 
feelin’ well an’ can’t do no work.” 

Aunt Viney paused for a moment, for effect, and 
then her accusing voice went on: “Den when he gits 
his stomach full, out he’s gone takin’ my money I 
done work fur and spends it on some no count yaller 
gal!” 

“So,” said the Judge, “he not only does not sup¬ 
port you but uses your earnings on someone else. 
Well—how about the cruelty?” 

Aunt Viney hesitated and the Judge, happening 
to cast an eye in the direction of the accused, saw a 
grin overspread his black face. Conspicuously, Sam 
rubbed his bruised brow. Aunt Viney was stumped 
for a moment. 

“Well, Jedge,” continued the complainant, 
“thar’s different kinds o’ cruelty, and whut I done 
tole you ’bout his takin’ my money, wuz cruelty 
’nough.” Viney Smothers sat down and Sam Smoth¬ 
ers took the stand. 

“Sam,” said the Judge, “you have heard the 


20 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


charges brought against you by your hard-working 
wife; what have you to say for yourself?” 

Sam shuffled his feet uneasily, shifted his hat in 
his hands, and turned a scared face to the judge. 

“I ain’t got nuthin’ to say, Jedge, ’cept ’bout dat 
cruelty; I ain’t sayin’ I ain’t done what she say I 
done, but Jedge, take a look at my face an’ tell me 
who yo’ thinks is de cruelty part o’ my family!” 

The face was displayed—“Exhibit A”, called a 
voice from the rear of the courtroom. The judge 
raised his hand to his mouth to hide a smile. 

“Aunt Viney,” said he, “are you responsible for 
this?” 

“Yes, sir, I reckon I is,” admitted Aunt Viney, and 
went on reminiscently, “yo’ see, when I brung Sam 
home Sadday night, we had a little altercation an’ 
Sam’s face come in contact wid a rollin’ pin. It wuz 
like de straw whut breck de camel’s back.” 

The whole room burst into laughter and the clerk 
rapped for order. 

“Well, Sam,” said the Judge, “if you spent about 
a month on the rock pile, you might appreciate your 
home better.” 

Aunt Viney’s anger had fast disappeared with the 
reciting of her woes and now at the verdict, a kindly 
impulse suddenly compelled her to intercede. “I tell 
yo’, Marse Jedge,” she interposed, “jes’ yo’ reprove 


EXHIBIT A” 


21 


him like an’ send him ’long home with me. Sam, 
he’s so used to settin’ on a cheer, he might never be 
no ’count, ef he set on rocks fur a month. 

“Keep still, Viney,” broke in Sam, “the Jedge says 
rock pile an’ he mean rock pile.” The defendant’s 
voice sounded satisfied. 

The judge took in the situation and he made a 
quick decision in favor of the proverbial “briar 
patch.” 

“Sam, Viney is right,” said he, “you go along 
home with her, and if she has to bring you to court 
again, you won’t have such a pleasant sentence.” 

The woman smiled and edged her way out of the 
court room arm in arm with her prodigal lord. 

“Come on, honey, le’s go home,” one of her 
friends overheard Aunt Viney remark, and later in 
the afternoon, happening to pass the Smothers domi¬ 
cile, the same friend observed Sam taking a peaceful 
siesta on the grass under a tree in the little yard. 

From within the cabin came the lusty voice of 
Aunt Viney, singing, “De ole time ’ligion’s good 
’nough fer me.” Her friend gazed at the cabin door 
and a grim smile played about the woman’s lips. 

“I reckon I’ll jes’ go on,” she remarked to herself, 
“don’t b’lieve I’ll stop to talk to Aunt Viney.” She 
looked toward the sleeping Sam. 

“I notice he’s got dat ‘ ’Zibit A;’ ” and she quick¬ 
ened her steps. 


WATCH DAT SNAKE 

A Little Tale of the Small-town Kentucky 
Negro 

^T the approach of the day for the annual basket 
meeting, there was an unusual stir of excitement 
among the Independent Sons and Daughters of 
Honor. 

During the entire week, antedating this event, 
there had been much preparation among the colored 
population of Smithtown. The telephoning and 
planning necessary for the approaching occasion had 
sadly demoralized the regular work in the private 
families of the town. 

Many a mistress had 1 been wheedled into contrib¬ 
uting a few eggs, or perhaps several cups of sugar 
for a cake, “jes’ while I’se bakin’ yours, please mam,” 
—though it grieves us to state that it is possible some 
contributions had been made “unbeknownst” to the 
lady of the household. 

The disturbance in Smithtown, however, was not 
confined to the mistresses alone, but the peaceful 
slumbers of the feathered folk of the community had 
been much agitated, as well. As a result of^noctur- 
nal visitors, Mr. Rooster uttering his clarion call to 
day, had discovered his family circle to be minus a 
wife or two—which but demonstrated that the Sons 
and Daughters of Honor had not followed the scrip- 
( 22 ) 


WATCH DAT SNAKE 


23 


ture to the letter. To them, the miracle of “feeding 
the five thousand” was all very well as literature, but 
the visible evidence of an abundance of food was 
more to their liking. As a race, they had always be¬ 
lieved implicitly in the proverbial “bird in hand”, 
particularly if said “bird” roosted in a conveniently 
obscure location. 

Now, as the July sun shone down, it beamed upon 
a people contented, happy, and expectant. 

Milly Brown, the acknowledged belle of the col¬ 
ored set, did not, however, welcome the festive day 
so joyously as did the others, for Milly was dis¬ 
turbed by an embarrassment of riches. Two par¬ 
ticularly insistent suitors were desirous of her com¬ 
pany for the basket picnic, both invitations having 
reached Milly at the same time. One “invite” was 
from the yellow skinned dandy, Lucius Jones, while 
the other came from honest, black, liver-lipped John 
Green. 

As luck would have it, the two invitations had 
been extended in the presence of Milly’s grand¬ 
mother, old Aunt Cynthy, with whom this popular 
girl lived. 

“Yo’ sho’ is got low taste”, had remarked this sa¬ 
gacious, elderly person, after the departure of the 
two suitors. “I can’t tell fo’ de life er me, whut yo’ 
let dat black John cum ’round heah fur, nohow. He’s 
de ornriest-lookin’ nigger ever I seed.” 


24 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


Milly looked a non-committal reply. 

“Now, Lucius dar,” continued Aunt Cynthy, “is a 
bright-skinned, dressed up fellar, an’ mos’ any gal 
would be proud ter be keepin’ company wif him." 

“Lucius likes hisse’f better’n he do anybody else,” 
scornfully rejoined Milly. 

“My Lawdy, Milly, I do b’lieve in my soul yo’ 
prefers runnin’ wif dat black scarecrow,” and Aunt 
Cynthy disdainfully swept into the house, leaving 
Milly at the front gate, where her dusky swains had 
extended their invitations. 

Oblivious to a youthful crap game in progress on 
the sidewalk nearby, quite unresponsive to the affec¬ 
tionate attention of a yellow hound-dog at her side, 
Milly stood, leaning on the gate post, reviewing the 
situation. In her heart of hearts she knew that no 
bright-skinned sheik could ever take the place of her 
coal black Valentino. 

However, the insidious suggestions of the world¬ 
ly-wise grandmother began gradually to permeate 
her consciousness and the mental vision of the 
splurge she would make with Lucius in an auto be¬ 
gan to dazzle her ego. The frugal John, Milly re¬ 
alized, would be likely to walk her to the picnic 
grounds, or, at best, to escort her in his old horse 
and buggy. The contrast was too great, and pride 
finally conquered love. 

On the arrival of the festive day, the summer 


WATCH DAT SNAKE 


25 


glare beat down upon a forsaken John, trudging, 
basket on arm, toward Childers’ Grove, where the 
picnic was to be held. 

In a new, white organdie dress, through which 
showed a gleam of sleek black arms, Milly stood at 
her gate, awaiting her bronze Beau Brummel and his 
auto. But the gaze which followed the receding fig¬ 
ure of the dejected John was not without some 
qualms. 

Aunt Cynthy had already departed. For hours 
she had been preparing for this event and had finally 
emerged a masterpiece of art. Her best black skirt, 
topped by a brilliant waist, became but background 
when one noted her crown of glory. “Oxized” to 
the ’nth degree, it glistened in the sunlight, a perfec¬ 
tion of art set off by a pancake-shaped hat, which was 
adorned by a ravishing “regretta”. 

“Suttinly am a bilin’ hot day,” the elderly woman 
remarked in her company tone, as she trudged along 
with the others. 

“Hope ’t ain’t gwine rain,” responded a compan¬ 
ion. “I heerd a rain crow dis mawnin’ an’ he sound¬ 
ed mighty discouragin’,” she continued. 

Ordinarily, optimistic Aunt Cynthy would have 
rebuked this pessimist for “puttin’ a hoo-doo on de 
party”, but her mind was on Milly and her beau. 

In the meantime, after much polishing and clean¬ 
ing, the gentleman had gotten into a semblance of 


26 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


respectability an antiquated Ford, which he had 
hired for the occasion. His many attempts at crank¬ 
ing it had finally proven successful and now, far 
down the road, the wheezing and panting of the 
ancient car heralded the approach of Milly and her 
escort. 

“Lucius sho’ is some hot dog ter-day,” remarked 
one of the girls, enviously. 

“Ole thing sounds like it needs a dose o’ ile,” com¬ 
mented John, the rejected suitor, somewhat vin¬ 
dictively. 

This far-sighted gentleman had rented out his 
horse and buggy for the day, and now, on his own 
“shank’s mare” had overtaken the crowd, who had 
started ahead of him. 

“Some folks is too stingy to hire a autermobile,” 
disdainfully interjected Aunt Cynthy, recognizing 
the speaker. 

Her words were scarcely audible above the noise 
of the approaching car, as down the road charged 
Lucius and his Lady Fair. The Queen of Sheba was 
never prouder than Milly in this moment of triumph. 
Scornfully disregarding the crowd, that trudged 
along on foot, she now turned an absorbed gaze upon 
her yellow escort. With admiration she viewed his 
stylishly clad form. A black and white checked suit 
set off to perfection the manly physique of the occu¬ 
pant of the driver’s seat. 


WATCH DAT SNAKE 


27 


The speed of the auto had necessitated his pulling 
his oversized derby well down on his cone-shaped 
head, where it was held in place by the help of a pair 
of large ears. To those on the side of the road, 
there was a silhouette of derby, loose lips and 
Adam’s apple frantically working up and down, as 
Lucius desperately clutched the steering wheel. The 
magnificent couple in the passing car made note of 
neither Aunt Cynthy nor John but, honking a horn, 
they dashed past the plebean throng. 

The auto appeared a bit unruly as it coughed its 
way through the crowd, and Aunt Cynthy was im¬ 
pelled to make a hectic side-step in order to elude it. 
So sudden was her action that she lost her balance 
and rolled off the roadside onto the friendly grass. 
The contents of her generous basket scattered far 
and near, but more tragic still was the disarrange¬ 
ment of her “oxized” hair. 

“Them autos am suttinly de ’vention ob de debil,” 
she exclaimed, “an’ folks ought ter be put in jail fur 
runnin’ people offen de road,” she concluded. 

“A fool an’ er engine’s bad company,” remarked 
John naively, as he carefully gathered up the old 
woman’s possessions and restored them to her. “I’ll 
kerry yo’ basket fer yo’, Aunt Cynthy,” he contin¬ 
ued, as he helped her to her feet. “I don’t ride much 
in flivvers, but I kin still tote anything I wants ter.” 


28 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


The hard heart of Aunt Cynthy began to soften a 
trifle toward this black-skinned knight, who had 
brushed off the dust with which the spluttering car 
had covered her. 

“Cyars ain’t fit fer niggers ter run,” Aunt Cynthy 
remarked heatedly. 

“No, mam, dey ain’t,” responded the sympathetic 
John, “ ’specially when dey can’t afford ’em. ’Tain’t 
so bad ter keep money in yo’ pockets,” he continued, 
jingling some loose change in his trousers, and then: 
“It goes a heap furd'er dan a pocket full o’ perfumed 
red handkerchief.” 

Aunt Cynthy kept a discreet silence, but visioned 
with some misgivings the crimson handkerchief af¬ 
fected by Lucius. Not too fast was her citadel to be 
taken, however. 

John, accepting silence for approval, ventured 
further. 

“Did yo’ know,” he remarked cheerily, after the 
first quarter of a mile had been passed in silence, 
“dat I dun made de las’ payment on dat piece o’ 
property ober by Jedge Thomas’s place, dis week?” 

Aunt Cynthy was not invulnerable. 

“Did Milly know dat?” she inquired interestedly. 

“No, ma’m,” rejoined John emphatically, “I ain’t 
tellin’ Milly nuthin’. I ain’t ’low ter buy dat gal. Ef 
she doan lub me widout knowin’ ’bout dat land, she 


WATCH DAT SNAKE 


29 


kin have dat yeller trash who doan own nuthin’ ’cept- 
in’ de duds on his back an’ him a’borrowin’ money 
ter hire dat ole rattletrap he rides in.” 

He paused after his tirade, and a softer light came 
into his eyes as he continued, “But I sho’ do lub dat 
lily o’ purity, dat Milly-gal.” 

Aunt Cynthy gave an amused grunt, making, how¬ 
ever, a mental note of the prosperity. 

Trudging along, anticipation quickening their 
steps, the picnic grounds were soon reached, and all 
the unhappiness forgotten in the bountiful feast 
which was spread. There were fried chicken, and 
cake, and pies, and the ubiquitous watermelon. 

In addition to these attractions, the presence of 
the Reverend Peter Vinegar was enough to assure 
the success of any basket meeting where he was to 
preach, and now, with ministerial mien and Metho¬ 
dist appetite, he circulated among the gathering. 

After having sufficiently satisfied his rapacious 
hunger, the reverend gentleman surveyed the crowd, 
while the women cleared away the luncheon debris. 
He consulted his large silver watch several times and 
finally decided it was time to start the religious cere¬ 
monies. Sedately, he mopped his ministerial brow 
with his huge checked handkerchief and lustily 
cleared his throat. 

“Now, brethren and sistren,” he began in a sten- 


30 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


torian voice and a smile which showed a gleam of 
white teeth, “gether yo’selves together fer de worsh¬ 
ip o’ de Lord. 

“It has been writ,” he continued, “dat man shall 
not live by bread alone.” 

At his first words the seething crowd quieted 
down. Groups began to form and perfect silence 
settled on them as the spell-binder began to speak. 

“Let us sing ‘When de Roll is Called Up Yonder, 
I’ll Be Dere’,” began the Reverend Peter. 

Musical voices blended in sweet harmony as the 
awe-inspired faces gazed at their leader. A response 
was unanimous. In the stillness which followed the 
hymn, the Divine arose. Looking over gold-rimmed 
spectacles which were perched on the end of his nose, 
he opened a well-worn Bible and spoke: “I take my 
text from de first verse o’ de third chapter o’ Gene¬ 
sis: ‘De serpent wuz more subtile dan any other 
beast o’ de fiel’.” 

He paused long enough to moisten his religious 
lips. Then, leaning impressively forward, a long 
bony finger was pointed at the waiting assemblage 
and he continued dramatically, “My subject is: 
‘Watch dat Snake’.” 

Black faces became tense. 

“Yo’ never kin tell when he’s a’trailin’ yo’. He 
mought be a’hangin’ ’roun’ now. Sometimes he’s 


WATCH DAT SNAKE 


31 


a’creepin’ under yo’ feet; sometimes he’s a’hangin’ 
fum de tree waitin’ to drap right down on yo’. What 
I says to one, I says to all—Watch! Watch! 
WATCH!” he shrieked with telling crescendo. 

Glances on the ground and furtive survey over¬ 
head followed this admonition. At this tense mo¬ 
ment, Aunt Cynthy, who had been listening with her 
eyes, ears, and mouth wide open, suddenly became 
conscious of a creeping sensation down her back. In¬ 
voluntarily moving her shoulders to relieve the 
strain, she had a pronounced realization of some 
wriggling thing on her, and there swept over her a 
feeling of intense fear. 

As Brother Vinegar repeated aloud “Watch dat 
Snake, it mought be on yo’ now!”, Aunt Cynthy let 
out an answering yell. Her alarmed cry drew the 
eyes of the whole assemblage. In an agonized voice 
she shrieked, “Yes, Brudder! It’s on me now! Help! 
Help! Tak’ it off!” and the old woman fell and 
rolled on the ground. 

The attentive John, who had been sitting beside 
her, grabbed at her as she toppled over, and thus 
loosened her waist at the neck. 

“ ’Tain’t nuthin’, Aunt Cynthy,” he reassured 
her, “ ’ceptin’ a fishin’ worm.” The wriggling in¬ 
truder was quickly extracted. 

A smothered laugh from behind the group 


32 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


brought Aunt Cynthy to her feet, and she turned 
with blazing eyes to confront her tormentor. Square¬ 
ly, she looked into the insolent eyes of the dandy, 
Lucius, who was shaking with merriment and sup¬ 
pressed laughter. 

“Yo’ thinks yo’s mighty smart, yo’ yaller-skinned 
nigger!” she exclaimed, glaring at the erstwhile pop¬ 
ular Lucius. “Yo’ oughter be ’shamed o’ yo’se’f, 
puttin’ worms down folks’ necks and bustin’ up meet- 
in’s this er way!” 

Milly had tactfully left Lucius’ side and now stood 
respectfully assisting her grandmother. 

“Look a heah, Milly,” began Aunt Cynthy, “doan 
yo’ hev nuthin’ ter do wid dis heah spen’thrift nig¬ 
ger. He ain’t fit fer nuthin’ ’cept ridin’ ober folks in 
dat ’ere autermobile whut he dun borrowed money 
ter hire. Cum ’long home wif me,” she concluded 
positively. 

As the old woman finished her tirade, a hopeful 
John remarked, “Aunt Cynthy, ef yo’ and Milly 
doan minds ter walk, I’ll tote yo’ basket home.” 

“I’se kind er tired o’ ridin’,” said Milly, with a 
coy turn of her head, coquettishly taking John’s prof¬ 
fered arm. 

“Yo’ young folks walks too fas’ fer my old laigs,” 
remarked Aunt Cynthy, with returned equanimity. 
“Jes’ yo’ all go on an’ I’ll tak’ my time an’ cum wif 


WATCH DAT SNAKE 


33 


Sister Brown,” concluded the scheming grandmother. 

The crowd dispersed. Crestfallen, Lucius de¬ 
parted in search of his car. 

For a moment he viewed his erstwhile triumphant 
chariot. Then taking off his coat and hat, the fallen 
hero attacked the crank with vicious vehemence. The 
pesky engine refused to turn over. One exceedingly 
faint snort was its only response. 

After repeated efforts the snort developed into a 
sputtering, and the ancient engine shook rebelliously. 
“Fo’ de Lord!” exclaimed Lucius under his breath, 
“dis heah cyar is jes’ like er ’oman. Yo’ spend all 
yo’ time an’ money on makin’ it look fine an’ den de 
fus’ chanct it gits, it’s ready to go back on yer!” 

A derisive laugh interrupted these bitter words, as 
someone passing by called out, “Yo’ looks mighty 
lonesome, Lucius!” 

The deserted lover paid no attention to the intrud¬ 
er. His thoughts were on his successful rival. 

“Dat liver-lipped John suttenly knows whut he’s 
’bout,” was the bitter soliloquy. “The way ter ketch 
de cow is ter feed de calf—only he’s a’workin’ it 
backwards!” 

The Ford wheezed in acquiescence, backfired, and 
went—dead! 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 

“T"\IS heah coon dawg sho’ is got some style ter 
^ ’im!” 

The speaker was none other than Sol Gill, who 
stood loose-limbed, shifty-eyed and dandyfied, one 
of a group of negroes, viewing the contestants for 
the forthcoming Jacksontown dog show. 

Imitators by nature, the population of this colored 
suburb of Versailles, Kentucky, had acted quite in 
character, when they had decided to give this affair. 
It had followed as a perfectly natural consequence 
upon the heels of the Blue Grass Bench Show. 

When that society event had closed its gates the 
previous Saturday night, and the spoiled canine darl¬ 
ings had been safely restored to their respective ken¬ 
nels, it had been thought that all interest in such 
affairs would abate for another year. However, 
when one of the judges of that fashionable meet 
chanced to drive through the colored locality a few 
days later, he was somewhat interested to observe in 
a vacant lot a considerable section fenced off with 
tobacco canvas. 

Above an entrance gate, was to be noted an elab¬ 
orate, printed sign, reading: 


(34) 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


35 


ThE JAckSOnTOwN BeNCh 
SHoW fOr DAwgS 

SATurDay EVEnin’ FRom SEVen TO ELeVeN 
GooD LUcK NUMberS PRiZeS GiVen AwAY 
COME ALL 

AdMisSiON lOCenTs—25C if yoU SHow a Dawg 
BRinG Your oWn Bench & your own Dawg 


Each day of the following week had seemed to 
kindle a keener interest on the part of the colored 
population, as the prospective event was passed 
along by word of mouth. 

All fees were to be paid in advance, to avoid any 
trouble caused by possible entries failing to appear at 
the last moment. 

Crittenden Jackson and Eldridge Thomas, the 
young colored gentlemen who had been inspired to 
start this affair, did not intend to take any chances 
on losing possible profits. 

These two young men were careful to arrange all 
details so that nobody could get in who had not paid. 

It was not known exactly what was to become of 
the moneys—at least it was not clear to anyone save, 
possibly, these two enterprising young negroes. They 
had made it their business to announce to the colored 
elite, that this was a swell thing to have. “Hadn’t 







36 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


all the white folks, who lived out on Cherry Hill, 
gone to the Blue Grass Show, de ladies all dressed up 
in dere fine sport clothes, and de mens in them short 
pants whut dey plays out doors in?” 

The argument was unanswerable, so colored so¬ 
ciety was duly impressed. 

In one respect the prospective “Dawg Show” dif¬ 
fered from the Blue Grass Bench Show—no restric¬ 
tions were made as to entries. 

Heralded far and wide was the announcement 
that the dog taking first prize would win a coop of 
four chickens. 

The second prize was to be two fine watermelons, 
and the third, a bag of smoking tobacco. The awards 
had been secured from various sources. 

It might have caused some embarrassment to have 
explained just how or where the chickens had been 
acquired, but the tobacco had been generously do¬ 
nated by Mr. Sampson, the proprietor of the cigar 
store, down the alley, where the colored sports gen¬ 
erally congregated. 

The watermelons had not yet been procured, but 
as twelve hours of moonlight night was still to inter¬ 
vene before the big show, there was little doubt but 
that the second prize would be there. 

Such prizes, and the fact that it was to be a wide- 
open show, naturally resulted in every man and boy 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


37 


in the community preparing his four-footed pet for 
exhibition, and as there was never a male negro 
without a dog, the affair bade fair to be a great 
financial success—not only a monetary one, but a 
brilliant social affair as well, therefore several of 
Jacksontown’s swellest hearkened as Sol Gill made 
his favorable comment concerning the perfection of 
his coon dog. 

A derisive grunt from the happy-go-lucky Andy 
Holbert challenged him: “Does yo’ call him a ‘coon’ 
dawg, Sol?” countered this gentleman, rising lan¬ 
guidly from the soap-box where he had been sitting. 
“From de smell o’ ’im,” he drawled, “I’d call ’im a 
‘skunk’ daw T g!” 

This bit of wit was evidently appreciated by the 
bystanders, for they burst into guffaws of loud 
laughter. 

Sol, however, did not join in the merriment. 

“Huh!” he finally ejaculated, “ef yo’ niggers hed 
any sense, yo’d know dat de skunk smell, which he 
hav’ retained a little perfume ob, only proves dat he 
wuz a good coon dawg, ’cause any dawg whut hunts 
coons is bleeged ter run up agin’ a skunk sometimes.” 

This repartee momentarily silenced the crowd, but 
Andy ignored the temporary vantage gained by his 
adversary and continued the attack: “Well, maybe 
when he’s coon huntin’, de dawg do run agin’ a 


38 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


skunk, but how’s yo’ gwine ter prove it wuz a coon 
he wuz a huntin’f” he demanded. 

Sol adjusted his derby hat on one side of his bul¬ 
let-shaped head and with his shifty eyes again viewed 
his entry for the bench show. 

“Searcher,” he said, turning toward his dog, “dis 
heah am de mos’ ignorant people whut ever congre¬ 
gated fur sport. All dey knows is nuthin’ an’ mighty 
little o’ dat!” 

Searcher, thus addressed, wagged his lanky tail 
and, raising a serious houndlike face, shook a fly 
from his nose. Sol Gill reached down and affection¬ 
ately stroked his hound dog’s ears, then addressing 
Andy, he demanded, “Whut yo’ know ’bout dawgs? 
Yo’ ain’t got none!” 

“Ain’t got none? Why, nigger, yo’se crazy!” in¬ 
dignantly exclaimed Andy. “ ’Co’se I’se got er dawg, 
an’ whut’s more I’se gwine bring her ter dis heah 
show an’ beat all yo’ all’s dawgs!” And Andy in¬ 
cluded the group in a withering glance. 

“Did Andy say he had er dawg?” asked Adam 
Chisley, coming to his pal’s rescue. 

“Dat’s whut he specify!” chimed in another young 
negro buck, whose eye, however, did not wander 
from his own collie dog, busily engaged in the pur¬ 
suit of an elusive flea. Her master watched her sym- 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


39 


pathetically, but looked up as the conversation con¬ 
tinued. 

“Well, dat do beat me!” exclaimed Adam, and his 
derisive grin met with a responsive one from Sol. 
“Is anybody heah eber seen Andy’s dawg?” 

Nobody had. “Didn’t know he had no fambly 
a’ tall,” remarked one of the group. 

Adam laughed. “Well, I is seen whut he desig¬ 
nates his ‘dawg’ but ef yo’ axt me whut it look lik’, 
I’d tell yo’ it ’semble’ a dirty wash rag more dan it 
favors anythin’ else!” 

His witticism was so apt that it evoked the ap¬ 
plause of the entire audience, and Andy rose to leave. 

As he leisurely wended his way down the street to¬ 
ward his shanty, his mind reverted to the recent con¬ 
versation. 

“’Tain’t nuthin’ de matter wid Tootsie Roll! 
She’s jes’ as fine as any o’ dere dawgs an’ whut’s 
more ain’t nobody ’round heah got er dawg o’ her 
breed ter show!” 

Cogitating thus, he failed to observe what ap¬ 
peared to be an over-sized tumble-bug making its 
way toward him. He stumbled over the little crea¬ 
ture and it emitted a yowl which sounded strangely 
familiar to Andy. 

“Fore de Lawd!” he exclaimed, “ef heah ain’t my 
prize winner!” At the sound of the familiar voice, 


40 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


the small bundle of mud tried to wag its tail, but 
there was no wag left in it! 

Tootsie had collected, in her curly poodle coat, 
most of the burrs of the community, and, realizing 
her plight, the poor little creature had done her best 
to rid herself of these tormentors by rolling in every 
available mud puddle, with the result that she was 
so thickly caked with mud that she was much like a 
chunk of rough clay in the first stages of modeling. 

Andy thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and 
gazed in horror at his pet. 

“Whut yo’ done gone an’ done dis fer, yo’ onery 
dawg?” he demanded. “Ain’t I gwine hab trouble 
’nough wid yo’ taking dat prize, widout yo’ pesterin’ 
me wid de extry work o’ gettin’ yo’ all scrubbed up?” 

Tootsie Roll turned a clay-encrusted eye toward 
her master. From his tone she knew that she had 
displeased him. She made another effort to wag her 
little tail, but it was a more dismal failure than the 
first. It seemed to her poor little dog mind that her 
muddy coat was becoming harder and stiffer every 
moment. 

She emitted a little whine, which was interrupted 
by an unfriendly laugh. Sol Gill and Adam Chisley 
had been silent witnesses to the meeting between 
Andy and his dog and now made their presence 
known by sarcastic merriment. 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


41 


Their proximity stung Andy into immediate 
action. He reached down and lifted this bit of clay 
and tucked it protectively under his coat. 

“Whut yo’ got there, Andy?” demanded one of 
the newcomers. 

“’Tain’t nuthin’ o’ your’n!” responded Andy, 
snuggling his bit of a dog closely in the crook of his 
arm. 

“ ’Pears like Andy’s been makin’ a mud-dauber’s 
nest,” said Adam, “look at his pants!” 

Andy glanced down and viewed the tell-tale evi¬ 
dence. 

With a grunt he turned and walked away toward 
his house. Arriving there, he went inside, closed and 
locked the door, tenderly placing his small burden on 
the floor. 

“Yo’ sho’ am a disgrace ter look at!” he com¬ 
mented 1 . 

Tootsie Roll stood just where she had been de¬ 
posited. Her bright little eyes gave back a mournful 
answer. The sight of her mud-caked body seemed to 
nearly paralyze Andy and all he felt able to do was 
to stand there and look at her. “Only one day ter 
git dis heah pup into her Sunday-go-ter-meetin’ 
dress! Well,” he sighed resignedly, “ ’tain’t no use 
ter cry ober spilt milk!” 

The speaker walked over to the rickety wash- 


42 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


stand. He gave a kick to the brick which served as a 
prop for one of the broken legs of this dilapidated 
piece of furniture. 

“Git back whar yo’ b’longs, ole brick!” he or¬ 
dered, “I’se got trouble ’nough wid dis heah Tootsie 
on my hands, widout yo’ tumblin’ de washstand on 
my foots!” 

He picked up the tin wash basin, and filled it from 
an old pitcher, then reached for the soap and looked 
at Tootsie. 

“Cum heah, ole dawg,” he said “yo’ an’ dat mud 
has got ter say farewell.” This, however, was more 
easily said than done. Tootsie’s master rubbed and 
scrubbed but her woolly coat defied his efforts. 

“I reckon ain’t nuthin’ gwine save us,” remarked 
the dejected Andy, “ ’cept’n hot water an’ dem two 
Gold Dustie Chillun!” 

A forlorn and dripping Tootsie was placed on the 
floor, and soon there was much rattling coming from 
the small stove. Some premonition seemed to warn 
Tootsie, for she cast a beseeching eye toward her 
master, as the kettle began to steam. She shared 
with him a distaste for hot water and soap. 

Disregarding her appealing glance, however, 
Andy proceeded to sprinkle a liberal supply of Gold 
Dust into the pan of heated water, then lifted the 
shivering little creature and placed her in the suds. 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


43 


This time he was assisted in his efforts by an ancient 
scrubbing brush and aided thus, the hard mud now 
began to roll off. 

“Hot dog!” exclaimed the delighted negro, “yo’ 
sho’ is gwine look fine now, an’ yo’ an’ me’s gwine 
feast on chicken fum our own coop, lil’ dawg!” 

Time and again was Tootsie Roll immersed be¬ 
fore Andy was completely satisfied with his job. 
Then he produced an old piece of shirt, with which 
he rubbed her until her kinky little white coat fairly 
glistened. 

“Now, I’se gwine put yo’ in a clean box an’ when 
to-morrow comes, yo’ll be all nice fur de show,” he 
concluded, suiting the action to the words. “Now, 
yo’ go ter sleep.” 

Having made this arrangement, he locked his 
door and departed for an evening’s pleasure with his 
friends. He felt perfectly confident of winning that 
enviable first prize at the dog show, and he whistled 
a lively tune as he strolled along. 

“I’ll jes’ step in the five an’ ten,” he confided to 
himself, “an’ git a ribbon to tie on Tootsie’s collar.” 

His purchase made, he then sauntered down the 
alley toward Mr. Sampson’s tobacco store. Several 
of his acquaintances were idling outside, and as the 
self-satisfied negro approached, he was hailed by Sol 

Gill. 


44 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Hi dere, Andy,” called the jeering voice, “how’s 
de mud-dauber business?” A disconcerting grin on 
Andy’s face answered the sarcasm. 

“Lil’ better den de skunk business, I reckon,” was 
Andy’s answer. 

Until now Sol had felt absolutely confident that 
his “hound dog wuz gwine git dat coop o’ chickens,” 
but Andy’s confident manner began to rouse misgiv¬ 
ings in his mind. He wondered if the little “runt” 
in the street was his rival’s sole hope for the prize. 

Sol did not know who the judges were to be, but 
he had heard that one was to be a lady-judge and he 
knew that he possessed great prestige with the 
ladies. 

Andy had never made much of a hit with the fair 
sex. Some of the dusky belles had been known to 
make fun of his lack of style. Despite these consol¬ 
ing thoughts there was nevertheless a feeling of un¬ 
certainty aroused at the sight of that placid grin of 
Andy’s. Sol decided he had better talk it over with 
his pal, Adam, while Andy and the rest of the crowd 
were discussing the coming events. 

When the company finally dispersed and Andy re¬ 
turned home and unlocked the door, all was silent 
and dark within. There was no sign of anything 


amiss. 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


45 


The flicker of an old lamp which he lighted dis¬ 
pelled the gloom—“Tootsie?” he called. 

There was no answering whine. 

He went to the box and peered within. The blank¬ 
et he kept for his pet was there, but to his dismay he 
discovered that Tootsie Roll was gone! 

Suspiciously he looked around the room and to his 
horror he saw that the back door was ajar! He re¬ 
called that he had hooked it. Upon close scrutiny he 
discovered that the door had been pried open, for 
the hook lay upon the floor. This was not Tootsie’s 
work—she had not let herself out! 

“Maybe she’s been kidnaped, or dognaped!” he 
said aloud. He had heard about people spiriting 
away children—why not dogs? 

Disconsolately Andy sat down on the edge of his 
bed and began to try to solve the mystery. 

“I’ll bet Sol’s at de bottom o’ dis,” he said aloud, 
savagely, recalling that gentleman’s disappearance 
from the cigar store early in the evening. 

Sitting dejectedly musing, he also remembered 
that they had made fun of his old clothes. He de¬ 
cided he must have some “glad rags” before the 
show. 

But could he go to the show without Tootsie? 

Way into the night he nursed his trouble. 

The old lamp burned low and lower and, finally 


46 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


with a sputter, went out. Andy took off his coat and 
shoes and, pulling a much worn quilt over his head, 
went to sleep. 

With the first streak of daylight, he awakened; 
usually Tootsie aroused him by licking his foot, but 
today there was no Tootsie, and his heart sank as he 
realized the magnitude of his troubles. 

He must first get some clothes to wear and he 
would then turn his attention to finding Tootsie. 

He would try his luck at getting a job for the 
morning and maybe they’d pay him in clothes. 

He wandered out in the direction of Cherry Hill. 
Colonel Ellis’ was the first place he tried. They al¬ 
ways wanted help about something. 

The young yellow maid was engaged in sweeping 
off the porch, as he went up the side yard toward the 
back door. 

“Hello, Andy,” she called, “whut yo’ want so 
early?” 

“Howdy, Mis’ Sally—reckon I kin git a job fur 
de mornin’ ?” he asked in his best company voice. 

“I dunno,” she answered, “but I’ll axt Mis’ Sue.” 

Soon Sally returned. Yes, he could cut the grass. 
The man who usually did it “wuz busy wid dat fool 
dawg show an’ wouldn’t be dere,” so Andy could 
have the job, but he must promise to finish it. 

Andy fell to work with a will. It was a big lawn 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


47 


and the sun was hot, but he kept thinking of the 
clothes, with thoughts of Tootsie also frequently in¬ 
sinuating themselves. 

He felt pretty confident that she would be at home 
when he returned, unless—fearful thought!—they 
had her fastened 1 up somewhere. A weary Andy pre¬ 
sented himself at the kitchen door when the job was 
finally finished. 

“How much do you want?” inquired Mrs. Ellis. 

“Please mam,” he answered meekly, “could I git 
some o’ yo’ son’s old clothes to wear?” 

“What kind of clothes, something to wear to 
church?” queried Mrs. Ellis. 

“No, mam,” replied Andy, twirling his old hat 
nervously, “whut I needs is some o’ dem sportin’ 
clothes, ter wear ter de dog show.” 

Mrs. Ellis laughed merrily. 

“Why, Andy, I have the very thing for you,” and 
she quickly disappeared to return with a bundle all 
rolled up. 

“These will fit you, with the help of a few safety 
pins,” she added, with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Yassum, yassum, I’se sho’ dey will suit fine, an’ 
thank yo’ mam,” he answered eagerly. 

Taking his bundle under his arm he wended his 
way toward home. “ ’Fore de Lawd!” he suddenly 
exclaimed, as the big clock in the court house steeple 


48 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


rang out five, “only two more hours ter find dat fool 
dawg an’ git dressed fur de show!” 

As he approached his house, he stopped short. 

Crouched on the step was the truant Tootsie, but 
oh, what a Tootsie ! 

The delighted grin, which the sight of the little 
creature had evoked, turned to dismay when he saw 
her plight. Her silky white coat was all bedraggled 
and she held one little pitiful paw as if it were hurt. 
Andy opened the door of the house and shoved her 
inside. Depositing the bundle of clothes on the bed, 
he then turned to his dog. 

“Well, I’se glad ter see yo’ ef yo’ is a sight,” he 
said. 

Hurriedly, he again warmed some water and then 
dipped her in. The dirt came off, but as he had used 
all the gold dust the night before, there was nothing 
to whiten her coat this time. 

He must get her all snow white, for therein, he 
felt, lay her greatest claim to the prize. 

While drying her after the bath, came the inspira¬ 
tion ! 

He had no talcum powder, but he did have some 
white flour. Hastily getting some from the bag on 
the shelf, he sprinkled the little creature’s soft, fluffy 
coat liberally with it. 

He was amply rewarded by the result and he 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


49 


smiled broadly as he tied the bit of ribbon on her 
collar. He next fastened her to the bed post and 
proceeded to make his own toilet. 

The bundle, for which he had labored all day, was 
opened and revealed its treasures. A pair of old 
knickers, a belted jacket, a cap and by no means least, 
some low shoes and a pair of golf stockings that fair¬ 
ly screamed! 

Some half hour later, there emerged from the resi¬ 
dence of Mr. Andy Holbert a vision of style. Ar¬ 
rayed in the perfection of elegance, he carried on 
one arm a covered basket, in which reposed the pros¬ 
pective bench winner. 

At seven o’clock, the crowd had already begun to 
gather. Colored society had taken advantage of 
early suppers in the various white homes in order to 
array themselves the more perfectly. 

The owners of the show dogs had arrived, and 
with deliberation and ceromony had escorted their 
pets to the various open boxes assigned to them when 
they had paid their entrance fees. 

In the stall at the gates, Eldridge Thomas was 
pompously accepting receipts which he placed in a tin 
box, while Crit Jackson, resplendent in a checked 
sports suit, was ushering the entries to their places. 

Into this hilarious crowd stepped a gentleman of 
fashion. 


50 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Lawd a-Massy!” exclaimed Adam Chisley, “ob¬ 
serve who’s present!” Sol Gill, who at the moment 
was passing with pretty Tillie Johnson on his arm, 
stopped to look. 

“Who’s dat fine lookin’ gentleman?” asked Tillie, 
who was visiting from Ziontown. 

“Dat nigger?” said Sol, “oh, dat ain’t nobody but 
Andy Holbert.” 

“He’s a mighty swell lookin’ feller,” said Tillie, 
much impressed. 

Andy was not feeling very swell at this moment, 
for Crit had just handed him his box number and it 
was—worse luck—No. 13. 

Wending his way to the bench where the dogs 
were displayed, he found the place for his Tootsie 
and carefully uncovering the basket, tenderly lifted 
out the snow white poodle. She had been placidly 
enjoying the journey from home and her equanimity 
was not disturbed when she was deposited in the hoo¬ 
doo numbered box. 

After the assemblage had refreshed itself at the 
lemonade and peanut stand, general attention con¬ 
centrated on the main attraction of the evening. 

The judges had been chosen from the audience, 
two men and one woman. Lest some local belle 
should be offended, a visiting lady had been selected 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


51 


as the female judge, and this choice was Miss Tillie 
Johnson, Sol Gill’s companion. 

Now, taking an arm of each of the gentlemen 
judges, a round of the bench was slowly made. 

There were several collies, three fox hounds, two 
Airedales, several bull dogs of uncertain lineage, a 
sprinkling of fox terriers, but only one poodle. 

The judges paused before each box and minutely 
looked the dogs over. The motley display of mon¬ 
grels was observed seriously by the judges, while 
the owners stood solicitously by. 

When No. 13 was reached, the lady judge 
stopped. 

There beside the box, stood that stylishly clad 
gentleman she had previously remarked and she 
smiled sweetly into his eyes. Then she turned to¬ 
ward his entry, the immaculate Tootsie Roll. 

“Oh, yo’ lovely liT dawg!” she exclaimed, “an’ yo’ 
name is so purty too—‘Tootsie Roll’!” 

“She’s too lil’,” objected one of the other judges, 
“I lik’ a big dawg, lik’ a hound.” 

“Oh, but you couldn’t tak’ a big dawg in yo’ arms 
an’ love it,” coyly said the young lady, “les’ talk it 
over,” and, obedient to the suggestion, the three 
judges adjourned to the part of the enclosure set 
aside for them, and deliberated importantly. 

The conference was finally finished and the lady- 


52 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


judge stepped forward with the blue ribbon held in 
her gracious hand. 

The owners of the various dogs waited expect¬ 
antly. 

Sol Gill stood beside his dog and smiled at the 
doner, with great assurance. Had not the ladies al¬ 
ways favored him? This surely would be no excep¬ 
tion to the rule. Miss Tillie Johnson, walking coy¬ 
ly, passed down the line and came to a halt before 
number 13. She tied the blue ribbon on Tootsie 
Roll’s collar. There was applause and the crowd 
surged forward. 

Andy Holbert was not accustomed to such good 
luck and stood confusedly before the fair judge. 

“Please let me hold the liT darlin’ a minute,” she 
pleaded, and before Andy realized it, she had lifted 
Tootsie Roll from her box and now held her close to 
her face. With a sinking feeling within him, Andy 
watched this fondling of his pet. 

Tillie cuddled the dog for a moment, then held 
her at arm’s length to admire her. 

Tootsie Roll was growing a bit tired of all this 
fondling and to Andy’s horror suddenly began to 
shake herself vigorously in protest. 

A white cloud rose all about her, and Tillie and 
Andy were choked in a common cough. From this 
they emerged laughing. 


ENTRY THIRTEEN 


53 


“Does she shake off her purty white coat?” asked 
Tillie, mirthfully. 

“Jes’ yo’ com ’long wid me, Miss Tillie,” said 
Andy, masterfully clutching her arm, “an’ I’ll tel’ yo’ 
all ’bout it.” 

Once outside the crowd, they laughingly dusted 
the flour from their clothes and Andy offered his arm 
to Miss Tillie, and together they marched away 
down the street, the prize winner trotting placidly at 
their heels. 

Some half block away from the show, the lady 
suddenly remembered the prize. 

“Oh, Mr. Holbert, yo’ clean forgot de chickens!” 
she exclaimed. 

“ ’Tain’t no wonder,” replied Andy, and he gave 
her arm a gentle squeeze. 

Leaving her to guard the small Tootsie Roll, the 
happy negro returned, in a very few minutes, with 
the prize carried in his two arms. 

Sol Gill disconsolately viewed the little procession 
from afar. 

He grimly beheld his girl and the coveted prize 
disappearing together in Andy’s company and he 
mused bitterly to himself: “ ‘Chicken’ has sho’ got a 
mighty hold on our race!” 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 
A Reminiscence 


<c 'j^ HAR ain’t no sech things as Hants, Huh?'’ 

grunted Uncle Mose, “doan yo’ all try ter tell 
me dat,” and he settled himself in his rickety chair, 
while he looked over the attentive gathering. 

“Ain’t I dun seen wif my own eyes dis heah Hant 
a’rarin’ an’ a’chargin’ when dere wan’t nobody 
around? I tell yo’ all, you young niggers has done 
got so smart-ellicky wif all yer train ridin’, an’ auto- 
mobilin’ an’ schoolin’ dat yo’ ain’t got sense ’nough 
ter listen ter nuthin’ us ole folks got ter say!” 

The ancient oracle gave a contemptuous sniff and 
looked at his open-mouthed audience. 

“Aw, Unc’ Mose, you know no ghost is foolin’ 
round heah now-a-days, so near de road too, where 
ever’body is passin’.” The speaker, a bright skinned 
sprightly young negro, was dressed in all the imita¬ 
tion grandeur of his generation. From the crown of 
his properly creased soft felt hat to his dove-grey 
spats and shiny tan shoes, he was the embodiment of 
up-to-date modernity. 


(54) 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 


55 


All the refinements of civilized Chicago had “Mr. 
Thomas Wadsworth Jackson,” as he was proclaimed 
by the aristocratic calling cards which had been 
especially designed for him by a celebrated sidewalk 
artist of that city. These cards of Mr. Jackson’s 
had been the envy and despair of all the other young 
bucks of his set ever since his recent return. 

Mr. Jackson, it followed quite naturally, was an 
authority among the damsels of his race. When¬ 
ever he chanced to come down the street dressed in 
his city finery, there was much powdering of brown 
noses and craning of necks while the young dandy 
walked majestically past. 

Now the center of an admiring group he stood, 
viewing tolerantly old Uncle Mose. A man of the 
world, such as he, could well afford to allow an 
aged narrator to ramble along. 

Out of the tail of his eye, the old man noted the 
patronizing attitude of the younger darky. Una¬ 
bashed by this superiority, however, the venerable 
old negro turned squarely around. 

“Now look heah, young feller,” he said accusing¬ 
ly, “maybe you larned mos’ everythin’ them Chicargy 
people could tell yo’, but when yo’ comes back heah 
an’ tries ter bulldose me ’bout somethin’ I seen wif 
my own eyes, I jes’ ’low yo’ doan know nothin’!” 

The old man’s tirade was greeted by silence. Un- 


56 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


challenged he chewed his quid of tobacco. The 
silence was finally broken by young Tilly Johnson. 

“Uncle Mose,” she asked respectfully, and the 
lounging group listened with eagerness, “whut wuz 
the Hant ’er doin’ when yo’ seen it?” 

“Law, yo’ chillun doan know ’nough ter put in a 
thimble!” The old man’s self-assurance had re¬ 
turned. 

“Y’all want ter know ’bout dis las’ Hant? Well, 
dis heah ain’t de first Hant I ever seen.” The eyes 
of his audience perceptibly widened as the old man 
warmed to his subject. 

“Some o’ yo’ seems ter hev sense ’nough ter wan’ 
ter know ’bout things,” he remarked, with an appre¬ 
ciative nod toward Tilly. “Well, I’ll tell yo’ what it 
wuz ’er doin’; dis heah Hant o’ Miss Mary Lou is 
still ’er takin’ on ober my young Marse John.” 

“Tell us about ’em, Uncle Mose,” said the girl in 
an awed voice. 

A tear, which was brimming from the eye of the 
old retainer, was checked. He swallowed a lump in 
his throat and settled himself comfortably in his 
chair. 

“Yo’ see, it wuz dis way,” continued the natural 
born story teller, reverting to his theme, “Ole Marse 
Middleton nebber had but one chile, an’ he sho’ wuz 
set on her. She wuz a purty, lively little lady an’ all 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 


57 


de young gemmens fur an’ neah wuz callers at de 
Middleton home. Miss Mary Lou, tho’, ain’t payin’ 
no special mind ter any ob ’em. She wuz jes’ lik’ a 
white lily, a’noddin’ an’ a’swayin’ in de breeze, an’ 
all dem young gemmens wuz lik’ bees a’tryin’ ter 
light, an’ her nebber kep’ still long ’nough fur ’em 
ter git no honey.” He paused and shook his old 
white head reminiscently before he continued. “Ar- 
ter ’while, ’long cum my young Marse John Mead. 
My young Marse wuz de king bee ob ’em all! 

“Old Marse Mead dun own nearly all de country 
an’ he hed kep’ dis only son o’ his’n away ter school 
an’ trabellin’ in furrin’ parts, an’ dis way Miss Mary 
Lou ain’t nebber seen my young Marse since she wuz 
a little gal. Now, when Marse John cum home from 
all his collegin’, he first seen Little Miss at a big 
party at Marse Calhoun’s, who lived on de nex’ place 
ter Marse Middleton. 

“My Liza wuz a’waitin’ on de dressin’ room, an’ 
she say she wuz a’peepin’ through de do’ an’ seen 
Little Miss when she met Marse John, an’ Liza say, 
ef Little Miss had a’been a peach, Marse John 
would a’ et her up right dar!” 

Uncle Mose paused long enough to change the lo¬ 
cation of the quid of tobacco, and very deliberately 
spat upon the ground. There was no possibility of 


58 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


the attention of his audience straying, so the old man 
took his time in resuming. 

“Arter dat, de other young gemmens jes’ nacherly 
took a back seat. My Marse John ain’t giv’ nobody 
no show. He an’ Miss Mary Lou wuz a’ horse- 
backin’ in de mornings an’ a’ courtin’ in de evenin’s. 

“Yo’ all see, I wuz Marse John’s body servant an’ 
my Liza she waited on Miss Mary Lou, so dat’s how 
I knows all de inside track.” 

The explanation was satisfactory. 

“One night,” continued Uncle Mose, “when I wuz 
a’ fixin’ my Marse John’s shirt studs an’ things, he 
wuz a’ singin’ ter hisse’f an’ a’walkin’ up an’ down 
de room wid his hands stuck proud-like in his pants 
pockets, an’ already he looked like a bridegroom. 

“Suddenly he stopped his paradin’ an’ sez to me, 
he sez, ‘Moses, I’m a very happy man!’ 

“ ‘Yessur,’ sez I. 

“ ‘Moses,’ he sez, ‘if Miss Mary Lou and I gets 
married, then you and Eliza can too,’ an’ he chuckle 
ter hisse’f. 

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ ’cept ‘Yessur,’ ’cause I 
’lowed as how Liza an’ me gwine tak’ up anyhows.” 

The old man smiled contentedly at some tender 
memory of his own and continued, “purty soon 
Marse John wuz off on his horse, gone a’visitin’ Lit¬ 
tle Miss. 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 


59 


“I set up a long time a’waitin’ fur him ter cum 
home, an’ den I jes’ drap ter sleep. I must a’fell 
outer de chair, ’cause when I waked up, de moon 
wuz a’shinin’ in my face, an’ I wuz on de floor. 

“I reckon it wuz purty late, ’cause things wuz pow¬ 
erful still, an’ all I heerd wuz a ole squinch-owl a’ 
tahooin’ in a tree, an’ it made dis nigger feel mighty 
shivery!” 

A perceptible tremor passed over the audience. 

“Jes’ den,’’ the awed voice of the old man thrilled 
his listeners into horrified expectation, “I heerd de 
do’ open soft-lik’ an’ I reckon as how Marse John 
done cum back from his courtin’.” 

“Pooh!” interrupted Thomas, in a disgusted 
aside, “ain’t nuthin’ skeery ’bout dat!” 

Uncle Mose did not deign even a glance in the 
direction of the skeptic, but continued in the same 
hushed voice, “he cum a’walkin’ right into his room 
an’ never say a word. 

“ ‘Dat you, Marse John?’ sez I. He ain’t said 
nuthin’ but goes ober ter his desk an’ fumble wid dat 
little drawer whut wuz in de middle. 

“ ‘Wait a minit, Marse John,’ sez I, ‘an’ I’ll make 
a light.’ 

“I goes ter de table an’ strikes a match ter light 
de lamp an’ den turns ’round ter see whar he is, an’ 
—he ain’t nowhar!” 


60 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


Young Tilly drew closer to the well-pressed sleeve 
of Mr. Jackson’s Chicago suit. 

“Nowhar a-tall,” went on Uncle Mose, “an’ I 
purty nigh fell ober ! I looks all ’round dat room an’ 
dere ain’t nobody dere!” 

“Well, yo’ oughter seen dis heah nigger makin’ 
tracks outer dat room. I runs down de back stairs 
an’ purty nearly knocks ober Milly, who wuz a’com- 
in’ in kinder late. 

“ ‘Whut fur yo’ dun bust yo’se’f open a’runnin’ in 
heah?’ sez dat cook-’oman ter me. 

“ ‘I dun see a Hant!’ sez I. 

“ ‘Whose Hant?’ sez she, wid her eyes big. 

“ ‘My Marse John’s,’ sez I, all outer breath. 

“ ‘Gwone way fum heah nigger,’ sez she, ‘How 
cum yo’ dun seen a Hant ob somebody whut ain’t 
daid?’ 

“Dat kind o’ got me, an’ I scratch my haid an’ say, 
‘I dunno, ’oman.’ 

“ ‘I reckon yo’ dunno' sez she, kind o’ scornful 
like, ‘Yo’ better go ter bed an’ not tech no more o’ 
dat spiritchus drink on de sidebode!’ 

“I goes ter bed accordin’ like an’ nex’ mornin’, 
when I gits up, I goes ter Marse John’s do’, same as 
alius, ter git his boots ter black an’ dere ain’t no 
boots dere. 

“So I knocks on de do’, kinder solf-like an’ dere 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 


61 


ain’t no answer. I opens de do’ an’ looks in, an’ his 
bed ain’t been teched! 

“I runs down quick ter ole Marse’s do’ an’ knocks, 
an’ he say ‘come in’, an’ I look in an’ ole Marse wuz 
gittin’ dressed. 

“ ‘Ole Marse,’ sez I, ‘my Marse John ain’t never 
slept in his bed a’tall all night.” 

“Ole Marse turn ’roun’ an’ say onconcerned-like, 
‘Didn’t he cum in last night?’ 

“ ‘Yessur,’ I sez, ‘he cum in’ leastwise I lieerd him 
cum in, an’ go ter dat lil’ drawer in his desk an’ 
fumble wid it, den when I gits him a light he warn’t 
nowhars.’ 

“Ole Marse looks at me hard an’ he sez, ‘Moses, 
what did you drink last night?’ 

“ ‘I ain’t drink nuthin’, sure,’ sez I an’ ole Marse 
laugh an’ say, ‘well, I reckon your young Marse has 
spent the night at the Calhouns.’ 

“ ‘Yessur,’ sez I, but I warn’t convicted.” The 
old white head shook dubiously. 

The spellbound listeners made not the slightest 
movement. Even doubting Thomas stood in open- 
mouthed attention. 

“It wuz at breakfast,” continued Uncle Mose, 
“an’ Ole Marse wuz a’eatin’ his waffles, when heah 
cum a feller a’gallopin’ up de front yard.” 


62 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“ ‘Where’s Mr. Mead?’ sez he, an’ Ole Marse 
hearin’ him callin’, cum to de do’. 

“ ‘Sur,’ sed he, a’takin’ off his hat, ‘I am sorry ter 
hev’ ter tell yo’ dat we hev’ found yo’ son’s body in 
de ribber below dat ole rickerty bridge dat leads de 
short cut to de Middleton place.’ Ole Marse jes’ 
stood dere an’ dat white trash went on a’talkin’. 

“ ‘De bridge mus’ a’fallen through when his horse 
stepped on de loose planks,’ he sez, ‘cause he an’ his 
hoss wuz in de ribber, pinned under de timbers whut 
give way.’ 

“Ole Marse neber move, he jes’ look lik’ he wuz 
glued ter de spot, an’ I runs up behind him an’ tak’ 
his arm an’ hep’ him into de house. 

“Den I runs outside an’ say ter dat white feller 
whut brung de news, ‘When yo’ reckon dat happen’ ?’ 

“ ‘Must a been around midnight,’ sez he, ‘fur dey 
say he left de Middletons ’bout midnight.’ When 
he says midnight, I ’members dat de night before, de 
moon wuz a’shinin’ on dat little white marble clock 
on Marse John’s mantelpiece an’ it say it wuz arter 
dat time, when I seen Marse John cum in. 

“Den I knowed fur sho’ wdiut it wuz I dun see— 
my Marse John’s hant —dat’s whut it wuz!” 

Uncle Mose had risen to his feet as his oration 
reached this climax. He stood now, staff in hand 
and gazed at his audience triumphantly. 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 


63 


A sympathetic sniffle came from one of the col¬ 
ored girls. 

“Whut happened ter Miss Mary Lou?” asked 
Tilly. 

Uncle Mose shook his head. 

“Little Miss, she jes’ tuck on somethin’ awful an’ 
my Liza say, ain’t nobody kin comfort her. Yo’ all 
see, she lubbed Marse John all de time, but ain’t 
wanter say ‘yes’ so quick when he axt her ter wear his 
ring he dun brung her dat evenin’. 

“Liza say, she heerd ’em a’talkin’ on de porch be- 
hin’ de vines; dat Liza o’ mine wuz a’peepin’ an’ she 
tell me dat when Little Miss say she won’t tak’ de 
ring den but maybe later, my Marse John riz up, all 
hurt-lik’, an’ went out an’ got on dat hoss o’ his’n 
an’ rid away fas’. 

“Dat mad ridin’ sho’ wuz his end, ’cause he tuck 
de short way home an’ Death wuz a’waitin’ fur him 
on dat ole rickerty bridge, an’ pulled him thro’ de ole 
rotten planks!” 

Uncle Mose sat down, rocking himself to and fro, 
his voice having taken on a dirge-like chant. His 
audience continued to gaze at him in fascinated at¬ 
tention and as he announced the fate of his young 
master, they fairly rocked and shook in sympathy. 

Mr. Thomas Wadsworth Jackson it was who 
broke the tension, “Did dey find de ring on his body, 


64 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


Uncle Mose?” inquired this skeptical Chicago prod¬ 
uct. 

“No surree!” answered Uncle Mose. “Dat ring 
wuz a’layin’ in dat lil’ drawer in Marse John’s desk 
whar his Hant dun brung it,” and Uncle Mose cast a 
triumphant look at the doubting one. 

Mr. Jackson dusted, with an elaborate bordered 
handkerchief, a tiny particle of dust from one of the 
dove gray spats. He regained his prestige with the 
action. 

“Well, Uncle Mose,” he condescended, “that was 
long ago, an’ things look kinder different ter us mod¬ 
erns. This heah Hant we is all a’ cogitatin’ ’bout is 
jes’ plain impossible. In dis heah day of knowledge 
an’ improvement,” and Mr. Jackson swelled with 
importance, “dere ain’t no Hant a’hangin’ ’round 
heah in de grave-yard, particular so near de road 
where folks is a’passin’ day an’ night too.” 

“All right, young yaller nigger,” sneered the old 
man, “yo’ knows so much, jes’ yo’ go out thar arter 
de moon is up, an’ find out whut yo’ see in dat grave¬ 
yard!” 

“I ain’t hav’ ter go to no grave-yard ter know 
’tain’t no Hant,” answered Thomas. 

“Mr. Thomas is a’skeered ter go!” giggled Tilly. 

“Who’s a’skeered o’ whut?” challenged the libeled 
Mr. Jackson. 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 


65 


“Yo’ is,” answered Uncle Mose grimly, “didn’t a 
feller tel’ me dat las’ week he wuz a’passin’ de grave¬ 
yard, an’ seen a Hant a’movin’ ’round Miss Mary 
Lou’s grave ?” 

The crowd sobered. 

“An’,” went on Uncle Mose, “didn’t Snowball 
Trimble tel’ me dat las’ night he seen de same thing? 
It wuz a’movin’ its arms up an’ down an’ a’climbin’ 
up on Miss Mary Lou’s tombstone, an’ a’shakin’ its 
head mournful-like! Po’ Little Miss! she ain’t find 
no res’ arter all dese years!” 

“Aw, Unde Mose,” broke in Thomas. “Snow¬ 
ball’s alius seein’ things! I’ll jes’ go out ter that 
grave-yard an’ tel’ yo’ whut is really there and when 
I cums back,” he continued impressively, “I’ll tel’ yo’ 
there ain’t nuthin’ there, an’ yo’ got ter b’lieve me.” 

“We sho’ will,” chimed the fickle crowd; so much 
for the loyalty of an audience. 

Uncle Mose gathered up his staff and rose to take 
his leave. 

“Thar wuz ’nother doubtin’ Thomas onct!” de¬ 
clared he, as he departed. 

The listeners dispersed, Tilly and Mr. Jackson 
leaving together. 

“Lemme go with yo’ ter the grave-yard to-night,” 
purred Tilly. 

“Aw, I doan need no company, I ain’t a’feered o’ 


66 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


no Hant!” The young negro puffed himself up with 
pride. 

“ ’Co’se I knows yo’ ain’t a’feered, but I jes’ nach- 
erly wants ter go too,” she murmured. 

Thomas Wadsworth Jackson was true to his sex; 
no “purring” female could fail to awaken his gallant 
nature. 

“All right,” said he, “yo’ can go, but jes’ doan let 
nobody know we’s goin’.” 

Later, they took a walk waiting for the moon to 
rise. 

“Now she’s a shinin’ good, Til! les’ go look fur 
Uncle Mose’s Hant!” said Tom, and they turned 
their steps towards the old grave-yard. Up to the 
gate of the white folks’ cemetery they crept. 

It was so very still! Involuntarily they drew closer 
together. A screech-owl began to hoot and they 
thought of what Uncle Mose had told them about 
the owl that hooted when his young master died. 

The burying ground was small and the two young 
negroes knew the location of the Middleton lot. 

Leaning on the gate they waited. There was a 
stirring of leaves in the trees above the graves. Was 
it the breeze—or could the sound be the sad sighing 
of departed spirits? 

The watchers felt the ghostly influence. 

Suddenly Tilly grabbed Tom’s arm, “Look!” she 


UNCLE MOSE’S HANTS 


67 


whispered. Tom looked, and his straightened hair 
began to rise. 

There, close beside Miss Mary Lou’s grave, stood 
a white object. Slowly it moved, shaking its head 
from side to side in a mournful fashion. Then, with 
apparent difficulty it mounted the head-stone and 
raised its ghostly arms on high and then despairingly 
lowered them. 

“Uncle Mose sho’ wuz right!” In his alarm Tom 
reverted to type. 

“Oh Tom! it suttinly is a Hant!” shakingly 
answered Tilly, creeping closer. Tom did not re¬ 
sent the familiarity. The pair were rooted to the 
spot. 

Three times the “spirit” raised its phantom arms 
toward heaven, and three times hopelessly dropped 
them. The shivering and trembling of the mulberry 
tree was the only sound in this city of the dead. 

But, at this tense moment, the moon broke 
through a clear place in the trees and illumined the 
Hant, stepping down from the head-stone of the 
grave. 

Tom and Tilly were fascinated by the terrifying 
sight! 

“Oh Lawdy! it’s a’comin’ fur us!” gasped Tilly, 
turning to run. 

“Hold on!” commanded Tom, masterfully grasp- 


68 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


ing the arm of the frightened girl, “doan yo’ see 
what dat is?” and opening the cemetery gate he 
pulled the trembling one inside with him. 

The terrifying object assumed a more natural ap¬ 
pearance and 1 approached the twain. It came munch¬ 
ing the leaves that it had so lately pulled from the 
mulberry tree above Miss Mary Lou’s grave. 

Stopping when it observed the watchers, it low¬ 
ered its head and uttered a familiar “Ba-a-ah.”— IT 
was A goat ! 

Triumphantly, Tom pulled Tilly’s arm within his 
own and they turned and walked toward home. 

“We sho’ is got de laugh on Uncle Mose now!” 
said Thomas. 

“I ’specs all Uncle Mose’s Hants is jes’ goats, 
doan you Tom?” laughingly asked Tilly. 

Thomas Wadsworth Jackson grew suddenly pen¬ 
sive. Into his mind 1 had entered a disturbing 
thought. He recalled Marse John’s ring! No 
“goat” had put it back into that little drawer in 
Marse John’s desk! 

“Well, honey,” said Tom, generously, “I reckon 
we’s got to ’low old folks some privileges. Les’ jes’ 
let de ole man b’lieve what he disremembers!” 


THE JIGGER MAN 

pRINCETON! Glorious November sunshine 
shedding its resplendence over the throngs. 

At the edge of the campus, Sally Rose, sitting in 
state, gazed in bewilderment at the multitude. 

“Wonder whar all des heah white folks come 
from? Mus’ be some job ter feed ’em!” mused the 
girl, recalling her erstwhile position as helper in her 
mistress’ kitchen back down south in Jacksonville. 
“Looks lik’ all de whole world am present,” she re¬ 
marked to herself. “I suttinly never ’spected ter be 
a’settin’ heah in a closed cyar autymobile,” she 
thought as she gazed interestedly at the passersby. 

She was much pleased with herself. She felt her 
importance as a part of a great fashion parade, and 
her feminine heart beat quite as excitedly as that of 
any of the white folks who assembled at the Prince¬ 
ton football game. 

It was on this day that the loyal followers of the 
Yale blue and the Princeton orange and black had 
congregated for their annual battle with the pig 
skin, and as Miss Evelyn’s maid, Sally Rose had 
been brought to care for the extra wraps and the 


(69) 


70 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


lunch kit, while the beloved mistress attended the 
game. 

A striking blue hat worn by a very stylishly dressed 
young white lady attracted the attention of this 
guardian of the luncheon box. The wearer of the 
brilliant headpiece passed, leaning on the arm of an 
escorting college boy and a responsive smile lit up 
Sally Rose’s brown face as she looked at the happy 
pair, and an involuntary sigh escaped her lips. Her 
heart, too, gave a queer little bound, as she buttoned 
close about her the warm coat, which had served her 
Miss Evelyn the previous winter. 

The sight awakened a flood of reminiscence which 
surged over her, and she recalled her own colored 
swain back down yonder in Jacksonville. 

When Miss Evelyn had suggested bringing Sally 
Rose north with her, the girl’s elation at the pros¬ 
pect of a trip on the steam cars had been somewhat 
overclouded by the thought of leaving her faithful 
steady, Zeke. 

Though somewhat scornful of him while she knew 
he was near, Sally Rose was, nevertheless, not alto¬ 
gether sure what effect absence might have on her 
midnight-colored suitor. However, she would have 
died rather than admit her qualms. 

When, as was his custom, he had come to the back 
door of the home on that eventful Friday, with his 


THE JIGGER MAN 


71 


basket full of shrimp for sale, Sally Rose had very 
flippantly told him of her intended trip. 

Zeke had been undisguisedly crestfallen. Fridays 
had always been red letter days for Zeke. 

“Whut yo’ wan’ ter go ridin’ on dem steam cyars 
fur anyhow,” he complained, “wid nuthin’ ’ceptin’ a 
fresh yaller nigger porter ter look at?” 

“Oh, yo’s jes’ mad ’cause yo’ got ter stay home!” 
retorted Sally Rose. “I’se gwine ter see de world an’ 
’sociate wid stylish, dressed up, ’ristocratic niggers! 
I’se been foolin’ way too much o’ my time on niggers 
what ain’t got nuthin’ but ole second hand duds ter 
wear an’ a’sellin’ swimps fer a livin’!” and Sally 
Rose tossed her head and turned away. 

Zeke was the picture of despair as he gazed sadly 
at her. His loose, dirty pants, old battered straw 
hat, and faded shirt but added to his disheartened 
appearance. 

“But, Honey,” he pleaded, “yo’s a’breakin’ my 
heart, leavin’ me down heah!” 

“Ain’t nuthin’ breakin’ yo’ heart!” she rejoined. 
“Somebody might break yo’ pocket-book an’ that 
wouldn’t take long—but yo’ heart!” She threw back 
her head and gave a derisive laugh. “Why, Zeke, I 
’spects yo’ heart’s jes’ lik’ a swimp, yo’s been ’sociat- 
in’ wid ’em so constant!” 

This might have resulted in a real breach had Sal- 


72 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


ly Rose not gone immediately into the house and 
closed the door, thus preventing an answer. 

But when the day to depart drew near, Sally Rose 
had grown somewhat dubious, and less sure of her 
independence. 

When finally the train was ready to pull out of the 
Jacksonville station, and a bunch of jasmine had 
been pushed through the iron railing by a very for¬ 
lorn Zeke, Sally Rose’s heart gave a regretful thump 
and a repentant tear trickled down her brown nose 
as she said a final good-bye. 

The fact that the flowers exhaled a perfume of 
jasmine combined with that of shrimp did not de¬ 
preciate their value to Sally Rose. 

But Miss Evelyn, in a less romantic mood, sur¬ 
rounded by numerous books and boxes of candy had 
paused, chocolate cream in hand, and sniffing the air, 
had remarked, “My goodness! Sally Rose, it’s easy 
enough to tell where your farewell token came 
from!” 

Sally Rose had meekly answered, “Yassum”. 

As weeks had become months, there had arrived 
but one missive from Zeke. 

This much read and re-read epistle, together with 
her memories and dreams, was all Sally Rose had to 
hold her to her old love. 

Now, in the glory of this autumn afternoon, the 


THE JIGGER MAN 


73 


girl’s heart turned towards the many couples who 
passed her by with a re-awakening yearning for her 
black shrimpman. 

Her responsibility as custodian of the car and 
wraps did not keep a feeling of loneliness from 
creeping over her and she began to experience that 
solitariness which can be felt so keenly in a crowd. 

She could hear the bands playing, and the sound of 
many voices. The Orange and Black, and the big 
Blue banners waved from many places, and cheers, 
and more cheering rose on the air. Occasionally 
silence seemed to hold the vast assemblage spell¬ 
bound, and then did Sally Rose begin to distinguish 
other sounds. 

A vender near the entrance gate kept calling, “Get 
your colors here, flowers or banners.” 

Finally another closer sound began to invade her 
consciousness, “Heah’s yo’ nice fresh samwiches, 
any kind yo’ kin axt fer, de Jigger Man’s got,” called 
a voice. 

Sally Rose’s ear caught the queer name. “What’s 
he a’callin’ hisse’f ?” she wondered. 

“Nice—fresh—samwiches,” reiterated the voice, 
drawing still nearer. 

Among the automobiles appeared a very stylishly 
dressed gentleman of color, the owner of the voice. 

The costume of the gentleman was altogether col- 


74 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


legiate. Large baggy trousers, accompanied by a 
nifty Norfolk jacket, a huge orange and black tie, 
tan shoes, and a soft felt hat pulled over one eye. 

Sally Rose was stunned with his stylishness. In¬ 
voluntarily she smoothed her oxized hair, and 
patted into place the pasted 1 curl she had acquired 
during her northern stay. Then, pulling her small 
close fitting hat a trifle further down over her ears, 
she too, felt herself a person of fashion. 

Interest in her surroundings began to revive and 
the yearnings of a lonely heart to fade away. 

This chance discovery seemed to have possibili¬ 
ties—and Zeke was far away and maybe had another 
girl by now. 

She cast a furtive glance at the approaching vision. 

“He mought ’er been a tall feller if so much o’ 
him hadn’t been turned up in them yaller shoes,” she 
soliloquized. 

The Jigger Man came into full view. On either 
arm he carried a huge basket piled high with sand¬ 
wiches, neatly wrapped in oiled paper. A small boy 
with re-enforcements walked behind him. 

“Heah’s yo’ samwiches, right heah wid de Jigger 
Man,” he called coming nearer, and finally he seated 
himself on the running board of a nearby car. 

Sally Rose could not see very well without turning 
squarely around, and this she disdained to do. How- 


THE JIGGER MAN 


75 


ever it did not interfere with an occasional coquettish 
glance over her shoulder, and she was near enough 
to hear him emit a sigh as he wearily seated himself. 

“My Lawdy! but I’se tired 1 ,” she heard him say to 
himself. 

Sally Rose cleared her throat. Mr. Jigger Man 
followed the sound with his eyes and beheld a vision 
of color. 

“Dis heah sho’ am my lucky day!” he exclaimed 
under his breath, solemnly taking a rabbit’s foot 
from his pocket and raising it to his lips. 

Sally Rose caught a fleeting glimpse of the action 
and posed effectively. 

Here, nearby, was that embodiment of northern 
aristocratic color she had so long dreamed of meet¬ 
ing and only just a few minutes before, she had been 
almost sad thinking “ ’bout dat ole rag-bag Zeke!” 

Mr. Jigger Man maintained his apparent indiffer¬ 
ence and conversed audibly with his small assistant. 

“Mister Jackson,” asked the boy, “ain’t yo’ al¬ 
ready made a heap o’ money to-day?” 

The Jigger Man put his hand in his trousers 
pocket and gave an answering jingle. 

“Well, sonny,” he answered, “we ain’t done so 
worse, an’ dey’ll be all starved ter death when dey 
quits a’howlin’ an’ yellin’ ’bout dat ball, whut looks 
lik’ a bladder blowed up!” 

Sally Rose sat entranced listening. 


76 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Did yo’ eber play football?” inquired the youth¬ 
ful help. 

“Me? Yo’ bet yo’ life I ain’t!” scornfully respond¬ 
ed the Jigger Man. “Son,” he continued, “when¬ 
ever yo’ heahs dat I’se done dressed myse’f up in 
knee pants an’ a shirt wid no sleeves, an’ I gits out 
in de middle ob a pasture a’runnin’ my fool se’f ter 
death arter a ball, an’ eberybody a’pilin’ theyselves 
all on top o’ me, an’ a’waitin’ fur some feller ter 
blow a whistle ’fore dey moves—den’s de time I 
’lows fer some friend ter lay me out wid a shot gun!” 

His eloquent harangue much impressed both of 
the listeners. 

Sally Rose’s nerves tingled to the cadence of the 
Jigger Man’s voice. She had only a partial view of 
his features, but his stylish apparel had not been un¬ 
appreciated and now she had listened to words of 
wisdom. This man of the world, this Jigger Man as 
he had styled himself, knew all about football and 
making money, and Zeke—“why Zeke’s jes’ a swimp 
peddler an’ doan know nuthin’ else!” 

She laughed aloud. 

The Jigger Man, hearing the laugh, rose from his 
seat and looked toward the lady. 

He ventured a few steps nearer. 

“Maybe yo’d lik’ some samwiches Miss,” he be¬ 
gan, “de Jigger Man alius has de best.” 


THE JIGGER MAN 


77 


Sally Rose glanced out of the corner of her eye 
and fingered her light purse. 

“How much is dey, Mr. Jigger?” she inquired. 

The Jigger Man gasped. 

“Bless de Lawd!” he exclaimed, upsetting, as he 
spoke, his basket of refreshments. 

His hat, which had so well covered his head and 
brow, fell off. Sally Rose turned squarely around, 
uttered a scream and sat back on the cushions of the 
car. 

“Zeke!” she said accusingly, “whut yo’ mean a’- 
runnin’ ’round heah all dressed up fit ter kill an’ 
callin’ yo’self sech a fool name?” 

“Sally Rose—Honey,” he asked tenderly, “didn’t 
yo’ know me ?” 

“ ’Co’se I didn’t!” she answered, “I’se a’settin’ 
heah keepin’ Miss Evelyn’s things while she an’ her 
beau goes ter see de football. I wuz a’thinkin’ yo’ 
wuz some swell pusson!” she continued airily. 

“Wuz yo’ a’makin’ eyes at some nigger yo’ didn’t 
know—answer me, ’oman!” 

The masterful tone had its desired effect. 

Sally Rose felt the necessity for her most bewitch¬ 
ing smile. Zeke melted. 

“Yo’ wuz in my mind, nigger-boy, an’ I reckon I 
knowed yo’ all de time, even ef yo’ wuz all gotten 
up!” she coyly rejoined, “but how comes yo’ heah?” 


78 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Well, Honey, I couldn’ stay home no more wid- 
out yo’, an’ de swimp season wuz po’, so Mister 
Johnny Cunningham wuz a’comin’ heah ter school, 
an ’said he’d let me cum ’long ter hunt fer work. De 
man whut runs dis business done tuck a misery in his 
back, an’ he got me ter tak’ his place an’ dis heah’s 
his boy a’helpin’.” 

Zeke’s soul was in his eyes. 

“Yo’ won’t go away widout me, Pearl o’ Great 
Price?” he begged. 

“No, Zeke—I’se gwine stay heah ’til yo’ ready 
ter go too,” answered Sally Rose, her cheeks very 
warm. 

“I reckon we kin find a preacher heah, same as ter 
home,” remarked Zeke, climbing into the car beside 
his sweetheart. 

As Sally Rose’s bright orange waist nestled 
against Zeke’s black coat, a wild cheer went up from 
the crowd. 

“Wuz dey cheerin’ us, Zeke?” asked Sally Rose, 
withdrawing herself somewhat from Zeke’s embrace. 

“I aoan keer ef dey wuz, honey-chile,” responded 
Zeke. 

The orange waist was again embraced by the 
black coat sleeve. 

The thumping of two hearts applauded the victory 
for the Orange and Black! 


ASK DARWIN! 


“gNOOKS?” (no answer). “Snooks?” (no 
answer). “Heah, yo’, Snooks, cum bring me a 
bucket o’ water,” called an authoritative voice from 
the kitchen door. 

Snooks reluctantly relinquished the end of a string 
on which a June-bug was buzzing. 

“Now yo’s dun it, Ma!” he complained disgust¬ 
edly. 

“Dun whut?” asked his mother. 

“Made me let dis heah June-bug git away when 
I’se been two days a’ketchin’ ’im!” whined the little 
negro. 

“Doan yo’ giv’ me any back talk, chile! Yo’ run 
’long like a good boy an’ hep’ me ef yo’ wants ter go 
ter dat picnic dis eb’nin’.” 

Thus cajoled Snooks tolerantly accepted the buck¬ 
et from his mother, altho’ he cast a longing look 
after the June-bug as it took its deliberate departure 
through the long grass. 

The bucket of water having been duly deposited 
on the kitchen table, Snooks then fell to work helping 
in other ways. Very industriously he carried in the 
wood for the kitchen stove, carefully swept the floor 
and, after mid-day dinner, helped to wash the dishes 


(79) 


80 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


in order that they might get off to the picnic in time. 

Many of these jobs might have appeared heavy 
ones to another child of eight, but to Snooks, who 
had felt his responsibility as his mother’s chief aid 
ever since the death of his father, the tasks were 
only an evidence of his importance. 

A very happy little pickaninny was told by his 
mammy, to “cum on an’ dress.” 

Finally, made resplendent in a clean gingham suit 
and sailor’s cap, Snooks wended a jaunty way with 
his mother toward the picnic grounds. 

In his pocket, the small boy carried his money 
which from time to time he jingled to be sure it was 
there. With pride he handled his wealth, for had 
he not earned it by clogging for the white folks in the 
house where his mammy worked? Two whole nickels 
seemed a fortune to this young person and he won¬ 
dered how many things he might do with so much 
money. 

The crowd was already assembling when he and 
his mammy arrived, and the band was gayly playing. 
Every fibre of the small boy’s being responded to the 
rhythm of the tune. 

“Quit yo’ dancin’ an’ cavortin’ heah, chile!” re¬ 
monstrated his mother, holding his hand tightly. 

“De ban’ jes’ nacherly makes my laigs shake, 
Ma!” replied Snooks. 


ASK DARWIN! 


81 


“Well, yo’ never kin git nowheres les’ yo’ laigs 
move on, ’stead o’ jumpin’ up an’ down in de same 
spot!” his mother answered, with a broad smile, 
which was arrested when Snooks clutched wildly at 
her arm. 

“Oh, look Ma!” and he pointed his finger excited¬ 
ly, “thar’s a show yonder!” 

There, at one side, flapping in the breeze, was a 
large canvas on which were some wonderful paint¬ 
ings. 

Above the work of art was printed: “Mr. Johnny 
Samuels will give an exhibit of his trained monkeys 
and other animals, at four o’clock sharp. Ten cents 
admission, children under twelve years, five cents.” 

Snooks’ mother looked at the picture of the mon¬ 
keys and spelled out the printing. She then re-read 
the words aloud to Snooks. 

“Kin us go, Ma?” eagerly queried the boy. 

She smiled, and the sympathetic kindliness of her 
face was brought out by her even white teeth and 
brown dimples. 

“Yo’ is a man o’ wealth, sonny,” she rejoined, 
“it’ll take only one o’ yo’ nickels ter let yo’ in.” 

Snooks grinned—but suddenly puckered his brow 
in perplexity. 

“How’s yo’ gwine in, Ma?” he inquired anxiously. 

“Oh, I reckon I’se got ten cents ’round some- 
wheres.” 


82 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


At these reassuring words, Snooks’ horizon 
cleared, but some time must be disposed of before 
the show would begin. 

The picnickers whiled away this period of waiting 
by a treat of lemonade and a ride on the merry-go- 
round but despite these diversions, time dragged 
heavily for Snooks. 

At last, however, the welcome sound of a tat-too 
on a tin pan attracted the attention of the crowd. 
The loudly raised voice of a man, none other than 
Mr. Johnny Samuels himself, was heard. 

“Step this way to see the monkeys perform— 
Come one, come all! Come see your monkey broth¬ 
ers do all the things you do yourself!” 

Darwin would have smiled had he been there. 

The boisterous crowd roared with appreciative 
laughter; Snooks’ eyes grew big and round. 

“Ain’t dey monkeys, Ma?” he breathlessly in¬ 
quired. 

“Yes, honey,” she answered. 

“Whut he mean by ‘brudders’, den?” the per¬ 
sistant Snooks pursued. 

“Doan kep’ talkin’, sonny,” she silenced him, “yo’ 
can’t ’spect ter know everything, but kep’ yo’ mouth 
shet an’ listen ter whut Mr. Johnny’s gwine ter say.” 

The crowd, in the meanwhile, in their endeavor to 
get seats, began pushing toward the stage. Snooks 


ASK DARWIN! 


83 


and his mother were fortunate enough to secure 
front chairs where they could watch every little 
movement of the performers. 

The small boy’s heart beat with excitement as Mr. 
Johnny Samuels, in professional grandeur came for¬ 
ward on the platform and made several pompous 
bows to the applauding audience. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began the spieler, “I 
have here before you the most trained animals what 
are known to mankind. They are so like human be¬ 
ings that many mighty smart people think we were 
all once monkeys.” 

Mr. Johnny viewed the crowd of childishly inter¬ 
ested faces and an expression illumined his counte¬ 
nance as tho’ he were withholding from them an ex¬ 
pected sugar plum. , 

Then, clearing his throat, he continued, “I will 
now show you two of the most wonderful trained 
monkeys that ever existed.” 

He turned toward a door at the rear of the stage 
and opened it with great ceremony. 

“Admiral Dewey—Aguinaldo,” he called. Out 
hopped two small monkeys. 

The crowd gaped in admiration at the gaudy cos¬ 
tumes worn by Admiral Dewey and Aguinaldo, but 
burst into hilarious laughter at the sight of the seri¬ 
ous little faces. 


84 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“These, ladies and gentlemen,” continued Mr. 
Johnny with another bow, “you will see by their 
looks and actions, are like you all here, your broth¬ 
ers, if you please.” 

“I ain’t got no brudders, Ma,” remarked Snooks 
in a low voice. 

“Well, yo’ kin hav’ one o’ dese heah little monkeys 
fur a brudder,” she teased in a whisper. Snooks 
looked dubious. 

In the meantime, at a word of command from Mr. 
Johnny, the two small monkeys came to the front of 
the stage and stood, blinking their bright little eyes 
at the audience. 

Snooks sat up very straight and looked them right 
in the eye, clutching his mother’s hand tightly the 
while. 

The show began. A diminutive ladder was placed 
against a small table. 

“Now Admiral Dewey,” began Mr. Johnny, “get 
busy and climb that ladder,” and Admiral Dewey 
forthwith began to climb, but just as he was near the 
top, Aguinaldo, who until now had sat on his haunch¬ 
es munching a peanut, turned his head suddenly and 
glanced toward his companion. Then quick as a 
wink, he darted toward Admiral Dewey and jerked 
the ladder from beneath him. 

The audience roared with amusement. 


ASK DARWIN! 


85 


The Admiral picked himself up, and with a most 
resigned air, replaced the ladder and began to climb 
again. 

Aguinaldo kept perfectly still until the Admiral 
had nearly reached the table again, then with a 
spring, he repeated the upsetting of the ladder. 

“Aw, that ain’t fair!” called Snooks aloud. 

The crestfallen Admiral looked at the speaker 
gratefully but continued his daily routine by turning 
toward a pile of small stones, conveniently placed 
nearby and with these missiles he began to pelt 
Aguinaldo who had been tormenting him. 

Snooks stood up excitedly. 

“That’s right! rock him, maybe he’ll behave his- 
se’f!” he cried out. 

“Keep still, Snooks!” cautioned his mother, and 
the child thus admonished became silent. 

The monkeys finished their performance and were 
allowed to retire through the rear door. 

The subsequent acts—trained rabbits and accom¬ 
plished dogs, failed to interest Snooks. These actors 
were not his “brudders”, Mr. Johnny had specified 
the monkeys, and Snooks’ loyalty remained unwaver¬ 
ing. His small mind was full of conjectures concern¬ 
ing these little creatures so nearly human. 

He wondered where they slept and what they ate? 

Then—inspiration! He would investigate. 


86 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


A sly glance at his mother revealed her, engaged 
in exchanging confidences with some friends on the 
opposite side from him. 

Snooks scented a chance for escape. Stealthily the 
little chap left his seat and then as cautiously crept 
around the corner of the stage behind the long cur¬ 
tain. 

There, to his wonderment, he made the discovery 
that the stage was on wheels, and further, that it 
formed a part of a large automobile truck. 

The youthful detective bravely peered into the re¬ 
cesses of this room and in one corner he discovered a 
mattress. It was soft, the air was balmy and con¬ 
ducive to sleep, so the child put his little kinky head 
on the inviting mattress and was soon drifting into 
the land of fancy. 

There, everybody had small, serious faces, wore 
funny, diminutive coats and queer little red caps. 
Nobody seemed to have anything to do except to 
sway from the limbs of trees by their long, furry 
tails. Snooks experienced a distinct swaying himself 
and wondered if he, too, were hanging by a tail, like 
his “brother” monkeys. 

At that moment, he felt himself fall from a tree— 
and lo! he was wide awake. 

It was very dark, not even a ray of light coming 
through the heavy curtain. 


ASK DARWIN! 


87 


A great fear began to creep over the child. Brave¬ 
ly he arose and peered out. A white line stretched 
out behind the room; Snooks knew that that line was 
the road, and that he was in a moving truck which 
was taking him further and further away from home. 
In his fright, the small boy sank back onto the mat¬ 
tress, and panic seized him as a wee, cold nose 
touched his face. 

The next thing he realized 1 , however, was a little 
warm body cuddling close to him, around which 
Snooks’ nervous arms closed and boy and monkey 
fell asleep in close embrace. 

The following morning, when Mr. Johnny Sam¬ 
uels, having arrived in the next village, began open¬ 
ing up his van for a show, he had a great surprise. 
There, slumbering within his van between Admiral 
Dewey and Aguinaldo, lay a small negro child. 

“For the love o’ Mike!” he exclaimed, “they’re 
‘brothers’ all right!” But even in his merriment, 
the kindly heart of Mr. Johnny Samuels was keenly 
touched and when Snooks suddenly awakened, the 
man reassuringly patted him on the head. 

“That’s all right, sonny,” he said, “I’ll get you 
back to your mammy, soon’s we’ve had some corn 
bread and ’lasses for our breakfast.” 

No grief could withstand such a feast and it was a 
smiling little boy who was transferred from the cus- 


88 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


tody of Mr. Samuels to kindly passersby who offered 
to take the little chap in their car, back to his 
mammy. 

Richer in experience and wealth he was gathered 
into his mother’s arms, when he reached home. 

“Whut yo’ mean, chile, runnin’ off wid strangers 
an’ skeerin’ me ’most ter death?” she remonstrated. 

“I didn’t run off, Ma, I jes’ drap ter sleep in de 
truck an’ it move out an’ tuck me! 

“Mr. Johnny wuz mighty good ter me, he gin 
me a quarter—an’ den, why fer yo’ skeered? I wuz 
wid my Brudders, wuzzant I?” 

Ask Darwin! 


LUCK IN RELIGION 


“ jlJEAH, yo’ Refus,” drawled the voice of Henry 
Clay Lewis, as he arose lazily from his soap 
box seat. 

The yellow dog, thus addressed, wagged his tail 
and blinked at his master. 

“Whut yo’ all time right under my feet fur? How 
yo’ ’specks me ter ever git anywheres?” 

Refus made no reply other than to tuck his mangy 
tail between his legs, as at a respectful distance he 
sneaked along at the heels of his master, who had 
started down the road. 

The energy, however, which had impelled Henry 
Clay’s movements, did not long endure, and soon he 
began to look about for a new resting place. 

“Dis heah weather suttenly do take de sperit outen 
a man,” yawned the owner of Refus, as he surrend¬ 
ered to the inviting shade of a high plank fence. 

Taking off his worn leather jacket and battered 
hat, stretching out his legs, he began an idle medita¬ 
tion. 

Refus, ever a willing and faithful imitator, noted 
the relaxed position, and was soon stretched at full 
length, fast asleep. 


(89) 


90 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


Only the flip of an ear at an occasional fly, be¬ 
tokened him a light sleeper. Sleep, however, was 
not so easy for his master. 

Life for Henry Clay had become somewhat com¬ 
plex. 

“Ain’t nobody keers nuthin’ ’bout me, ’ceptin’ dis 
heah ole yaller dawg,” he mused, as he affectionately 
stroked Refus’ head. 

“It do keep a fellar plannin’ how’s he gwine git 
’nuff ter eat an’ somewher’ ter res’ hisse’f at night. 
In de winter it’s too cold ter work an’ in de summer 
it’s too hot. Thar oughter be some way ter manage 
’sides alius workin’—but a fellar gits hongry jes’ de 
same, an’ sleepy too,” he added. This last was made 
evident by the drowsiness which soon overpowered 
the man as well as the dog. 

Sleep and anticipated pleasant dreams were pres¬ 
ently rudely shattered by a “bang!” against the 
board fence. 

Henry Clay raised his crooked arm in alarm, fear¬ 
ing he had been shot, but discovered that the trick¬ 
ling down his face was nothing of a more serious 
nature than whitewash. 

A smile spread over his dusky countenance and 
he bestowed his relieved attention upon a conversa¬ 
tion being carried on, on the other side of the high 
board fence. 


LUCK IN RELIGION 


91 


“It sho’ am a powerful revival we all’s a’havin’ at 
our Chu’ch,” said a deep bass voice to the accompani¬ 
ment of a swishing brush. 

“How many’s jined 1 ?” asked a high tenor, whose 
owner stopped to dip from the bucket of whitewash. 

“Oh, I reckon maybe fifty,” the first speaker re¬ 
plied. “I tells yo’, Pete, dat parson suttenly hands 
it to de sinners right! De mourners’ bench am 
plumb full ebery night.” 

Pete was duly impressed. “Has dey tuck in much 
money?” he inquired. 

“Money? Why, nigger, dat plate’s piled up an’ 
a’runnin’ ober ebery night, an’ dey say dere’s no tell- 
in’ whar it cums from an’ whar it goes to.” 

Pete emitted a low whistle, and Henry Clay lent 
an even more attentive ear. 

“Well, money seems ter cum mighty easy fur 
some folks,” he heard, “but it sho’ am powerful 
hard ter git my fingers on any.” A sympathetic emo¬ 
tion filled the breast of Henry Clay. A bit checkered 
had been his own career, what with working, a very 
little, and begging, a bit more, he had managed to 
live and there had been occasions when his fingers 
were perhaps a trifle “light”, for it is to be feared 
that Henry Clay’s left hand had, at times, known 
what his right hand had been doing. 

A desire now awakened within his breast to see 


92 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


with his own eyes this preacher-man, who was able 
to acquire so much money, with such apparent ease. 
He had never dreamed but that it was for the 
preacher’s personal use. 

“I’d lik’ ter see that thar revival,” he mused, “but 
dey wouldn’t let no ole ragbag lik’ me in de meetin’ 
house!” 

It was then that a bright idea inspired him. “I’ll 
axt Mis’ Miller fur some clothes; thar wuz a mighty 
plenty hangin’ on de line in her back ya’d, when I cut 
de grass las’ week.” 

The idea gave new energy to the erstwhile sleeper, 
and dog at heel, he was soon ambling toward the 
Miller home on Elm Street. 

“Look heah, Refus,” he admonished as they 
walked, “yo’ got ter let Mis’ Miller’s cat alone, ef 
she’s gwine giv’ me somethin’. Reckon I’ll jes’ tie 
yo’ outside while I goes in.” This threat was duly 
executed at the Miller gate and, hat in hand, Henry 
Clay knocked at the kitchen door. 

“Whut yo’ want heah, nigger?” scornfully in¬ 
quired the dark-hued empress of the kitchen. 

“Doan want nuthin’ o’ yo’, yo’ upperty smartelec. 
My business is wid Mis’ Miller,” he answered con¬ 
temptuously. 

“Keep yo’ sass ter yo’se’f man, or I won’t tell her 
yo’s heah!” announced the woman. 


LUCK IN RELIGION 


93 


The mistress of the house, happening to hear the 
disturbance, appeared at the pantry door and looked 
into the kitchen. Henry Clay gave a triumphant 
glance at the cook and made his wants known. The 
appeal had its desired effect, and Mrs. Miller soon 
reappeared with an armful of discarded clothing. 

“Can you wear these, Henry?” she asked, handing 
to him some old trousers, a much out-of-date Prince 
Albert coat and a venerable stove pipe hat. 

“Yassum, I suttinly kin, an’ thank yo’ mam!” re¬ 
plied the negro, rapturously. 

In the meanwhile, Refus had grown impatient of 
his enforced detention at the gate, and now the 
group at the kitchen door was horrified to see the 
dog dashing into their midst, close after Mrs. Mil¬ 
ler’s pet cat. 

“Oh, that awful creature! Don’t let him touch 
my cat!” screamed the mistress of the house. 

Henry Clay made a dive for the offending Refus, 
another for his newly acquired wardrobe and effect¬ 
ed a quick exit. Down to his little shanty on the edge 
of town he hastened. 

A complete change of raiment and Henry Clay 
stepped out into the gathering dusk a new man. 

Refus, at first, regarded his master with suspicion, 
but after much sniffing was satisfied. 

In his stylish finery, Henry Clay had taken on a 


94 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


new lease of life—he was even a little condescending 
to his faithful companion. 

“Now, look heah dawg,” he said as he affection¬ 
ately pulled one of Refus’ ears, “yo’ can’t go to no 
’tracted meetin’ ’cause dawgs doan need no preach- 
ifyin’. Yo’ jes’ stay ter home an’ mebbe I’ll bring 
yo’ a little present!” he finished. 

Refus was accordingly fastened in the little shanty 
and an old bone, which had been previously acquired 
from a garbage can, was given him. Then the name¬ 
sake of the great statesman started off to seek re¬ 
ligion. 

“Who’s dat nigger all dressed ter death?” in¬ 
quired one of his acquaintances, as the latter passed 
down the village street. 

“I dunno, he resembles Henry Clay Lewis, but 
’tain’t, ’cause he alius looks lik’ a ole bunch o’ rags 
an’ dat yaller dawg o’ his’n is alius a’followin’ ’im.” 

Henry Clay indulged in a furtive smile as he over¬ 
heard these remarks, but felt secure in his incognito, 
as he proceeded toward the Macedonian Baptist 
Church, where the revival was in full swing. 

The chanting sound of the preacher’s voice greet¬ 
ed him through the open window. 

“We’s a trabellin’ a weary road, my brudders! 
De wagon am full, an’ some o’ us can’t hold on,” he 
wailed. “We keep a’drappin’ off an’ ole Mister 


LUCK IN RELIGION 


95 


Debbil’s a runnin’ ’long close by an’ he ketch de foot 
whut’s a’hangin’ ober de side, an’ it’s mighty easy 
fur de Ole Boy ter yank some sinner off.” 

The audience rocked in unison and numerous 
“Amens” and u Yes, Brudder!” came from their 
overwrought emotions. 

Wiping his sweating brow with his large white 
handkerchief, the divine continued: 

“Better git right in de gospel wagon, whar yo’ 
can’t fall off. Come ’long on de mourners’ bench an’ 
’fess yo’ sins, so ole Mister Satan can’t lay his han’ 
on yo’ an’ pull yo’ down ter fire an’ brimstone!” 

A shudder passed over the assemblage as this 
fearsome probability was pictured for them. 

They arose and pushed each other aside in their 
eagerness to reach the seat of repentance, directly in 
front of the table whereon lay the over-brimming 
collection plate. 

At this psychological moment, when the repent- 
ants were hysterically making their way forward, ar¬ 
rived Henry Clay Lewis. A keen glance through the 
open door of the church revealed to him the mourn¬ 
ers’ bench within easy reach of the bountiful offer¬ 
ings. 

His enthusiasm gave speed to his usually slow 
feet. Religion overpowered him. 

Pushing to right and left the sinners on either side 


96 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


of him, he made his determined way toward the re¬ 
pentant bench. He was greeted by the choir and 
congregation as they sang, “Get on de Gospel Wag¬ 
on.” 

Henry Clay’s religious eyes never wandered from 
that well-filled plate. He saw a short cut to affluence 
could he but edge near enough for his light fingers to 
wander. 

The emotional crowd swayed and sang. The 
preacher left his pulpit and worked among the peni¬ 
tents. 

“Come on brudder, come on sister,” he admon¬ 
ished them, “go down on yo’ knees an’ axt forgive¬ 
ness fer yo’ sins, an’ de Lord hab mercy on yo’ wick¬ 
ed souls!” 

Obedient to the suggestion, the sinners knelt, 
Henry Clay amongst them. This last named gentle¬ 
man, however, was most particular about the loca¬ 
tion of his sinful body, while his soul was over¬ 
powered by religious fervor. Within a few inches 
of the quarters and dimes and piled up dollar bills 
knelt that devotee. 

All unknown to the sinners and saved, there now 
crept into their midst an intruder. 

The lean bone had exhausted its fascination for 
Refus and, through a loose plank in the side of the 
shanty, the dog had gained his freedom and had fol- 


LUCK IN RELIGION 


97 


lowed his master, even into the sanctified surround¬ 
ings. Nothing daunted 1 by the aristocratic assem¬ 
blage, unawed by the ministerial presence, regardless 
of the many distracting perfumes which permeated 
the atmosphere, the yellow dog crept beneath the 
seats until he was close beside his master. 

“ ’Tain’t my sister but it’s me, Oh Lord, standin’ 
in de need o’ prayer,” sang the choir. 

“Amen!” responded the united voices of the audi¬ 
ence, deep in worship. 

“This is the time,” thought Henry Clay, “ter he’p 
merse’f!” and his hand began stealthily to creep to¬ 
ward the collection plate. 

At this moment, however, something cold and 
clammy touched those light fingers. 

“Lawd hev’ mercy on my soul!” wailed Henry 
Clay, and his knees shook beneath him. 

The succeeding chant of the choir was answered 
by a blood curdling accompaniment: “Ow—Ow— 
Ow!” rose the penetrating cry, directly at Henry 
Clay’s side. 

The dog was getting religion, too. 

In this hysterical moment the howling yelp of Re- 
fus was interpreted as supernatural, and a panic en¬ 
sued. There was a wild scramble of sinners, falling 
over each other in mad haste to escape damnation. 

In the confusion which followed, the reading desk 


98 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


was knocked over, thereby upsetting the communion 
table, whereon lay the coveted money plate. The 
collection scattered in every direction. 

“It’s de debbil done got us!” howled a hoary- 
headed son of Ham. 

A young yellow girl made an unsuccessful attempt 
to hurl herself into the arms of Henry Clay, but 
there was other work for those arms to do. 

As the coins and bills rolled on to the floor, Henry 
Clay made a wide sweep about him, gathering in 
what he could, and beat a hasty retreat by a side 
exit. 

Refus managed to extricate himself from the me¬ 
lee, and quite unnoticed, emerged from the house of 
prayer and was soon with his master in the privacy 
of their own domocile. 

Henry Clay carefully bolted his door, lighted his 
lantern, and then turned toward his faithful ally: 

“Yo’s a good ole dawg!” he said approvingly, 
while he patted him on the head, “mebbe I’ll buy yo’ 
a sho’ ’nough piece o’ meat to-morrow,” he conclud¬ 
ed. Refus wagged his tail and licked his master’s 
hand. 

Henry Clay Lewis drew from his pockets his eve¬ 
ning collection. 

“Three dollars and fifty cents!” he exclaimed ex- 


LUCK IN RELIGION 


99 


citedly, a dollar more than he had expected to find in 
the clutch of his light fingers. 

“Doan tel’ me, Refus dawg,” he said musingly, 
“dat a two dollar bill’s bad luck.” 

Refus wagged his tail understandingly. 

“I maintains, ole dawg,” he went on, “luck’s a 
thing yo’ can find if yo’ jes’ looks fer it. Yo’ can 
find luck in ’ligion ef yo’ knows how ter work it!” 


THE MAN IN THE CAR 


ccrjpAIN’T no use, suh, dis heah wheel’s got ter 
come plumb off!” A kick at the offending mem¬ 
ber emphasized Ike’s scorn. 

“Now, ef it wuz jes’ a puncture, suh,” the young 
negro chauffeur continued, “ ’twouldn’t tak’ no time; 
but dis heah wheel’s got somethin’ wrong wid its in¬ 
nards.” 

The President of the Upland Lumber Corpora¬ 
tion looked annoyed. “Well, take the blame thing 
off and make as quick a job of it as you can,” he said. 
“I will not spend another night in one of these coun¬ 
try hotels. We must get to the city by dark.” Petu¬ 
lantly he chewed on his Corona, and with a nervous 
hand picked up his newspaper. 

Ike lifted the tool kit and began deliberately to re¬ 
move the front wheel of the Rolls Royce. Taking a 
final look to see that the car was well jacked up, the 
chauffeur then proceeded to roll the detached wheel 
down the street to the nearest garage. 

The Man in the Car settled himself for a long 
wait. Things like this were apt to occur only too fre¬ 
quently on the tail-end of long business trips. No 
telling where the hands of his watch would point 


(100) 


THE MAN IN THE CAR 


101 


when that nigger, Ike, would return. That boy was 
slower than transmission oil in winter. 

The impulse that had influenced the President of 
the Upland Lumber Company to give such a job to 
the grandson of his old black mammy, was now al¬ 
most a cause for regret. What if the boy was a 
graduate of a chauffeurs’ school, he was still a negro, 
and no school on earth could ever teach him to hustle. 

Well—there was nothing to do but wait, so the 
owner of the disabled car settled himself as com¬ 
fortably as possible, on the cushioned seat, and roll¬ 
ing his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, 
devoted himself to reading. 

After the passage of nearly half an hour, the 
much-mussed newspaper was thrown aside, a road 
book supplanting it, and he immersed himself in the 
problems of distances and directions. 

“This must be the populous town of Slickerway. 
What a name ! Not much that’s interesting to either 
see or hear around these parts,” and a derisive smile 
curled his lips. 

Sitting lazily gazing about, the surroundings be¬ 
gan gradually to register on his consciousness, and 
the tiresome Blue Book took its place beside the dis¬ 
carded news sheet. The different groups of negroes 
who evidently were in the habit of congregating 
here, began to attract the roving eye of the Man in 
the Car. 


102 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


New arrivals were being hailed with, “Howdy,” 
or cordial slaps on the back. 

Upon one of these new-comers in particular, the 
gaze of the Man in the Car was focused. Some 
trick of memory compelled a second look and 
aroused his interest. 

Yes—it was Old Uncle Ben, his father’s house 
servant, of whom this old negro in the street remind¬ 
ed him! Old Uncle Ben who had taught him, when 
a little boy, to ride his pony. 

“Little Marse,” Uncle Ben had called him then. 

A tender, almost childish, smile, for a moment, 
softened the stern expression of the Man’s face. 
Memory had had small opportunity in the Man’s 
busy life and now suddenly the flood-gates burst 
open, and he was submerged in childhood recollec¬ 
tions. 

Uncle Ben’s wife, Aunt Cassade, had been an al- 
most-mother to the little half-orphaned child and he 
now remembered the soft cushion of her arm as she 
had rocked him to sleep in her lap. Strange, that 
the sunlight of this day, on a street of a little un¬ 
known village, should re-awaken thoughts which had 
so long slumbered. 

A peaceful calm began to steal over the usually 
restless spirit of this busy man. 

This was Saturday, and amusedly the Man re- 


THE MAN IN THE CAR 


103 


called how darkies liked to gather in any nearby 
town on Saturdays. 

Uncle Ben and Aunt Cassade had always gone to 
the village on Saturday evenings, although Aunt Cas¬ 
sade had never failed to return to the plantation in 
time to hear the prayers of her “lil* honey-boy” and 
to tuck him into bed. 

What had those prayers been? Yes—they began 
with, “Now I Lay Me,” and ended with, “Our Fath¬ 
er.” Vainly he tried to recall them. He never for¬ 
got figures! Could he not compel his mind to re¬ 
member those simple, childish prayers? 

Ah—praying, perhaps, had not been such an inte¬ 
gral part of his daily life as figures! 

A strange sound precipitated the Man in the Car 
from the past into the hot, sultry present. 

Across the street, the crowd was gathering around 
a person who was strumming a guitar. 

By raising himself a bit, the Man in the Car could 
see two negroes who were evidently the nucleus of a 
dusky group. 

This twain were beginning to preach, and the 
droning, chanting voices accompanied music which 
was furnished by the bony fingers of the black clad 
preacher. 

“Oh, Lord,” intoned the preacher as he raised one 
hand toward his tightly fitting skull-cap, “let not de 


104 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


sperit ob onrighteousness descend on dis heah peo¬ 
ple !” 

“No—Lord,” pleaded his female companion. 

The appearance of this female was indeed ludi¬ 
crous. She wore on the top of her kinky hair a large 
sailor hat, and wielded automatically a palm leaf 
fan. With a handkerchief she proceeded to mop her 
sweaty face, and involuntarily there came to the lips 
of her white audience in the automobile an amused 
and derisive smile, which, however, died still-born 
when he suddenly recognized her expression of fer¬ 
vor and sincerity. From this scare-crow saint, the 
Man in the Car glanced back to her companion. 

A look of the far-off jungle shone from the preach¬ 
er’s fanatical eyes as furtively he viewed the assem¬ 
blage. He was speaking and the Man listened. 

“We’se heah today an’ gone to-morrow, an’ whar 
is we all a’gwine?” demanded the accusing voice. 

“Lord hab mercy!” wailed the female descendant 
of the jungle. 

The hot sun shone down on the listening negroes, 
now stilled into awed attention. 

The speaker’s voice grew louder and more chant¬ 
like as he continued: “Thar’s sin a’stalkin’ an’ sin a’ 
walkin’, an’ sin a’settin’ on ebery street corner. De 
rich an’ po\” the preacher went on, “air all alike, en¬ 
tertainin’ Satan when de Marster’s a’waitin’ fur a 
chair!” 


THE MAN IN THE CAR 


105 


Unheeded were the great beads of perspiration on 
the exhorter’s brow as he shouted, “Git up, sinner, 
an’ let yo’ Marster set down! Doan yo’ see Him 
a’waitin’ fer yo’ to axt Him?” 

The Man in the Car sat back on the cushions and 
looked at his watch. 

Ike had already been gone an hour. Would he 
never come back? Well, there was nothing to do but 
sit and listen to the harangue of that crazy negro 
across the street. He was compelled to hear his 
words and he could not keep his mind from taking in 
what was said. 

Finally, hoarseness overcame the male voice and 
he was supplanted by the shriller, though no less fer¬ 
vent, harangue of the woman. 

“Sisters and Brudders, whar’s all de preachers?” 

There was no answer, so she continued, “De bak¬ 
er’s in de bake shop, de cook’s in de cook kitchen, de 
presser’s at de pressin’ board, de store man’s in his 
store, all ’tendin’ to dere callin’—but whar’s de 
preachers?” 

“Amen! Glory be,” emphasized her spouse. 

Heedless of the interruption the woman shook 
herself from side to side and mopped her forehead 
as she proceeded. She raised herself on tip-toes with 
vehemence, and pointed a condemning finger at the 
absent offenders. 


106 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“I’ll tell yo’ whar dey is! Dey’s a’ridin’ around 
in big lymysine’s, a’rarin’ back on de cushions, en¬ 
joyin’ deyselves smokin’ big segars, an’ dey doan 
know dat de debbil am a’trailin’ ’em! Ole Mister 
Satan doan keer nothin’ ’bout gaseline! He ain’t 
a’feered o’ gittin’ gassed. All he keers ’bout is a’- 
keepin’ de preachers ’way from dere business o’ sav¬ 
in’ souls, an’ carryin’ ’em down ter fire an’ brim¬ 
stone !” 

The Man in the Car automatically tossed away his 
offending cigar. He was becoming cynically amused. 
This discourse would certainly be repeated to some 
of his fashionable friends of the clergy at some 
future time. They would be greatly entertained! 

The Man’s amused thought was interrupted by 
further words from the lips of the first negro orator, 
who now took up the thread of the discourse. 

“We’se been a’preachin’ ter a crowd eberywhar; 
las’ night, dere wuz only two black people in de audi¬ 
ence, de res’ wuz all white folks. But dat doan make 
no difference. De Lord ain’t no respector o’ per¬ 
sons—His word is meant fur dem too!” 

He looked out over the crowd, and like a lode- 
stone drew the attention of the white occupant of the 
car and held his eye. 

“When did any o’ yo’ pray ter God?” he asked 
violently. 


THE MAN IN THE CAR 


107 


There was silence broken only by a self-conscious 
shuffling of feet. 

“Look yo’selves in de face, an’ see ef a look o’ 
shame doan meet yo’ gaze! De good Lord’s giben 
yo’ eberything yo’ needs an’ some more dan dey kin 
use right! Whut,” suddenly the preacher’s voice 
demanded passionately, “hev’ yo’ giv’n’ ter Him?” 

The Man in the Car moved uneasily. His amuse¬ 
ment had left him. 

“Search yo’ hearts, my hearers,” plead the speak¬ 
er, “an’ see whut yo’ finds dere, an’ turn about an’ 
axt de Lord ter forgive yo’. He ain’t never turn no 
deaf ear when yo’ really wants Him!” 

During the thrilling prayer which concluded the 
service, the influential capitalist, the proud egoist in 
the waiting car, raised his hat and remained un¬ 
covered. 

Ike, returning at this unprecedented moment of 
devotion, stopped, spellbound as he viewed his em¬ 
ployer. “ ’Fore de Lord!” he ejaculated, and then 
proceeded to adjust the repaired wheel. 

The owner of the Rolls Royce resumed his impor¬ 
tant position in the world. Silently he watched the 
movements of his black chauffeur. 

When the wheel was well on, Ike was summoned. 

“Come here, Ike,” called his employer. “Go over 
and tell that negro preacher I want to speak to him.” 


108 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Yessuh,” answered Ike, his face full of wonder. 

In a few moments, accompanied by Ike, the ex- 
horter approached, his simple face wearing a look of 
pleased surprise. He viewed the magnificent car and 
its owner. 

“Whut culd dis rich white man want wid him?” 

The Man in the Car held out his hand as the 
preacher doffed his skull cap, “I want to thank you 
for your sermon,” were the simple words spoken. 

The wan face of the negro relaxed. “Thank yo\ 
suh,” he responded. “As I said, de Word am fer 
black an’ white, rich an’ po’ alike!” 

Again, the earnest expression transfigured his 
countenance. 

“I expect you find living a little uncertain, in work 
like yours?” was the next question. 

“Oh, it’s scrimpy at times, suh, but de Lord ain’t 
never gwine let His servants suffer,” replied this 
preacher of the Word. 

The Man in the Car cleared his throat. “Here’s 
something I want to give you, a small payment for 
something big you’ve given me today. Get started, 
Ike,” he continued somewhat hoarsely. 

“Oh, thank yo\ suh!” exclaimed the preacher, 
clutching a folded bill, which was pressed into his 
hand. 

The sun seemed to suddenly go behind a cloud, for 


THE MAN IN THE CAR 


109 


a mist rose before the eyes of the Man in the Car. 

A big puff of dust almost covered the tall lank 
figure standing in the street, watching the disappear¬ 
ing automobile. 

“Whut’s yo’ got grabbed in yo’ hand lik’ dat?” 
demanded the woman, as she approached her spouse. 

Together they gazed at a hundred dollar bill! 

“Why,” answered the negro, as a tear stole down 
his seared black face, “looks lik’ we got some o’ de 
debbil’s own materials ter fight him wid! We can 
certainly travel many a day, an’ buy us lots o’ food 
wid dis heah paper! I specs sometimes maybe angels 
rides in autymobiles. Yo’ doan git too po’ ter be 
good, does yo’ ?” 

The woman’s hungry eyes looked down the road 
at the cloud of dust and a silent, thankful prayer was 
prayed for The Man in The Car. 


THE WISE VIRGIN AND THE 
FOOLISH ONE 


<c pO’ de name o’ de Lord!” exclaimed Rastus, 
“am all de stars done fell, or is dat Star o’ Beth¬ 
lehem Pentecostal Chu’ch on fire!” 

Curiosity quickening his footsteps, Rastus drew 
nearer the sacred edifice. Fortunately, there proved 
to be no fire, nor were there any fallen stars, but the 
lights flaming from the windows of the place of 
worship might easily have fired the imagination of a 
much less excitable nature than that of Rastus Jones, 
Esquire. 

This gentleman gasped at the view which met his 
gaze, for indeed the sight was of most extraordinary 
unusualness. 

Instead of the regular pulpit, with its walnut read¬ 
ing desk, surmounted by the big church Bible and the 
inevitable glass of water, Rastus’ surprised eyes 
noted a stage, a play-acting stage, improvised, ’tis 
true, but a stage nevertheless, and a stage which 
boasted a real drop curtain! 

“De ole chu’ch members would suttinly turn ober 
in dere graves, ef dey could see dis,” commented the 
disapproving negro. “Dey must er been purty hard 
(HO) 


WISE AND FOOLISH VIRGINS 


111 


up ter raise money,” and he shook his head dubi¬ 
ously. 

And indeed, the financial exigencies of the congre¬ 
gation had been responsible for this metamorphosis 
which was so startling to Rastus. 

The giving of a dramatic entertainment to raise 
funds had appeared to be the only solution of their 
troubles, when the committee had met to discuss 
their affairs. 

The suggestion had been made by Margaret 
Bibbs, “Let’s give a real excitin’ show!” 

“Oh, ef we had a ’citin’ play yo’all would jes’ git 
skeered an’ holler!” Johnson Cole had answered. 

“I think a real, nice, love-makin’ story would be 
nicer,” coyly volunteered Victroly Brown. Her 
comment was accompanied by a wistful glance to¬ 
ward the young minister’s study. 

“For de name o’ goodness!” witheringly ex¬ 
claimed Omaha Nebraska, “doan let Victroly start 
any o’ dat soft stuff,” which remark was probably a 
straw showing which way the wind blew, for there 
had existed between these two colored damsels, for 
some time, an armed truce, which at any preference 
shown by the good-looking young preacher, the Rev. 
Josiah Sprouts, was apt to blaze. 

The reverend gentleman, at this point of the dis¬ 
cussion of the play, appeared on the scene, and his 


112 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


advent was followed by a respectful hush, which fell 
over the entire committee meeting. 

He, however, looked at neither of the two young 
women, but impartially addressed himself to Mrs. 
Hettie Crittenden, the chairman. 

The Rev. Josiah Sprouts removed his gold- 
rimmed nose glasses and wiped them with his hand¬ 
kerchief, which he then majestically returned to his 
coat-tail pocket. 

“I hav’ been prognosticatin’ over dis heah enter¬ 
tainment fur sometime, Sister Crittenden,” he began, 
an’ I hev’ come ter de conclusion dat it is in better 
keepin’ wid our Christian work to giv’ a play taken 
from de Holy Book.” 

“Yo’s right, Brother Sprouts,” assented Sister 
Crittenden. “Can yo’ designate one we might work 
on?” she inquired. 

The Reverend Josiah gently rocked himself to and 
fro on his tip-toes. Without apparently noticing the 
two young women whose artful smiles and glances 
were trained full upon him, he again addressed him¬ 
self to Mrs. Crittenden. 

“I think,” he began, “that a very far-reachin’ an’ 
helpful performance of ‘The Wise and Foolish Vir¬ 
gins’ could be given. Brother Jones says dey hev’ 
tried it out in de Slickerway Chu’ch, an’ it proved 
both helpful an’ edifyin’,” concluded the divine. 


WISE AND FOOLISH VIRGINS 


113 


Such an argument could not fail to be conclusive, 
and as a natural consequence there followed numer¬ 
ous committee meetings and things eventually began 
to take on the look ox a real show. 

And a show it proved to be! Omaha Nebraska, 
in a most aggressive manner, had insisted upon play¬ 
ing the leading role of the Wise Virgins and, as 
beauty is supposed to accompany a frivolous brain, 
pretty Victroly Brown led the Foolish ones. 

The cast was doomed to be picked and re-picked, 
but the three principal characters remained un¬ 
changed, Omaha Nebraska to lead the Wise and Vic¬ 
troly the Foolish, while the Rev. Josiah Sprouts was 
to take the part of the Bridegroom. It was to be 
noticed that as the rehearsals advanced towards the 
day of performance, relations between some of the 
leading actors became, to say the least, quite 
strained. 

When Victroly Brown was taken sick from eating 
fish and drinking buttermilk at a certain supper par¬ 
ty, Omaha Nebraska was heard to scornfully re¬ 
mark, “Well, whut does yo’ expect o’ somebody who 
ain’t fit fur nothin’ ’cept ter be a ‘Foolish Virgin’?” 

Upon hearing the criticism, Victroly had retorted, 
“Omy has got sech a swell haid since she axt herself 
ter be a ‘Wise Virgin’, dat she can’t even get on no 
more hats!” 


114 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


This pleasantry was duly whispered in the minis¬ 
terial ear, and the dark skinned Divine felt the neces¬ 
sity of pouring oil on troubled waters. 

Accordingly he took Omaha out walking and tact¬ 
fully talked to her about brotherly love, but when he 
saw she was misconstruing his remarks as leading to 
something more personal, he changed his tactics and 
gave the young lady in question a profound disserta¬ 
tion on Christian charity. 

Then, feeling his duty only half accomplished, he 
invited the prospective Foolish Virgin to drive with 
him to see a country parishioner, intending incident¬ 
ally to remonstrate with her on the sinfulness of 
contention; but, at his first word of reproof, Victroly 
put her head on his shoulder and started to cry, all 
of which quite disarmed the Reverend Josiah. 

In comforting the repentant girl, he found his arm 
stealing around her waist and only the approach of 
another vehicle recalled to his distracted attention 
the purpose of their drive. 

Rather lamely, he then remarked, “Well, yo’ will 
try not ter fuss wid Omaha, won’t yo’, Vicky?” 

The appeal in his voice awakened joy in the breast 
of his companion and her face dimpled with happi¬ 
ness. 

“I’ll do jes’ whut’ll please yo’, Brother Sprouts,” 
she acquiesced. 


WISE AND FOOLISH VIRGINS 


115 


The dignified appellation recalled to his straying 
consciousness his ministerial position. 

Later, the Reverend Josiah experienced a warm, 
tingling sensation come over him as he reviewed the 
incident, particularly when recalling that weeping 
head on his benevolent shoulder. 

He retired precipitately into his study and concen¬ 
trated on reading Paul’s advice of keeping the body 
under subjection, and then fervently prayed to be de¬ 
livered from the lusts of the flesh. 

In the days that followed the momentous decision 
of producing this play, Mrs. Hettie Crittenden 
found her hands, which had usually busied them¬ 
selves with the wash tub, now full of rehearsals. 
Much ingenuity was necessary in order not only to 
have the actors attend these rehearsals, but to keep 
peace when they did arrive. 

The actors took their parts most seriously and the 
Sunday preceding the performance things had 
reached such a pitch that the Foolish Virgins were 
about ostracized by the respectable church members. 

Even Reverend Sprouts began to feel the existing 
tension and questioned himself if, maybe, they had 
not chosen unwisely to attempt to raise money in this 
manner. He would be greatly relieved when it was 
all over! 

Sister Crittenden worked hard to keep the girls 


116 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


interested in their bridal costumes, which she was 
very careful to have equally attractive. 

“I’se sho’ been a’sweatin’ blood” she remarked 
to her husband, on the evening of the grand perform¬ 
ance. “Ef I kin git them fire-eatin’ gals thro’ dis 
heah night, widout a hair-pullin’, I suttinly will de¬ 
serve a crown o’ glory!” she concluded. 

“Nebber mind, honey,” consoled her husband, 
“Yo’s done it all right an’ it’s gwine be a fine show.” 
But despite his reassuring words, Sister Crittenden 
felt a premonition of something sinister. 

At last the long anticipated hour arrived, and the 
lights that shone from the windows, which had 
awakened feelings of awe in the breast of Rastus 
Jones, were now reflecting pleasure on the faces of 
an expectant audience. 

As the clock on the side wall pointed to the hour 
of eight, a hush stole over the waiting assemblage. 
At that crucial moment, the heavy drop curtain was 
pulled solemnly aside, revealing the improvised 
stage. 

The floor was partially covered by a bright red 
rag-rug, and there had been installed for the occa¬ 
sion, at the rear centre of the stage, an impressive 
door. This door was later to play an important part 
in the performance. Through it were to pass the 
Wise Virgins and the Bridegroom with his attend- 


WISE AND FOOLISH VIRGINS 


117 


ants. On either side of the opening were piled nu¬ 
merous sofa pillows, upon which the Virgins were 
to repose while awaiting the arrival of the Bride¬ 
groom. 

At the sight of the magnificence of the prepara¬ 
tions, the audience became even more keyed up with 
expectancy. 

Nor was the suspense confined to them alone, but 
in the dressing room in the basement below, there ex¬ 
isted, also, much smothered excitement among the 
cast. “Look at Vic a’primpin’!” sneered Omaha. 
“Anybody would think she wuz gwine git married 
herse’f, an’ she can’t even go thru de do’ wid de 
Bridegroom!” 

“Yo’ won’t neither,” retorted Victroly, “ef yo’ 
haid keeps a’swellin’!” 

“Hush yo’ all,” interrupted Mrs. Crittenden, “de 
music is a’startin’,” and, obedient to her signal, the 
impressive march began. 

To the accompaniment of the choir’s song, “Doan 
act foolish when de Bridegroom comes,” the maidens 
entered the aisle. 

The Foolish Virgins came first, carrying high 
above their heads small unlighted kerosene lamps. 
The damsels marched with a care-free tread, and 
their leader’s countenance beamed with joy. 

“Vicky looks lik’ a bride herse’f,” was the pleasing 


118 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


comment that reached Victroly’s ear as she wended 
her way onward. 

In marked contrast to this procession was the ap¬ 
proach of the Wise Virgins, with serious faces and 
solemn dignity. 

These provident ones bore not only their lamps, 
but the fifth one of this group was noticeably swing¬ 
ing a small can of kerosene. 

Omaha, their leader, carried herself with the air 
of one on whom the whole show rested. The others 
were but adjuncts to form a background for her. 

When the music ceased, the ten Virgins, with much 
display, arranged themselves on the bright-hued 
cushions and slept. Then followed a few moments 
of tense silence, which was broken by peal of bells in 
the distance. 

As the last stroke died away, the audience was 
startled by a great hubbub in the rear of the church. 

Snowball Johnson appeared on the threshold, and 
in a voice more accustumed to calling the cows than 
talking in church, thundered, “Behold de Bride¬ 
groom’s a’comin’, an’ yo’ Virgins better git ready ter 
go ter de weddin’ wid ’im!” 

There was wild confusion on the stage. Lamps 
were upset, veils trampled upon and cushions rolled 
out into the aisle. 

The Foolish Virgins began their cry, “Giv’ us a 


WISE AND FOOLISH VIRGINS 


119 


lil’ oil fur our lamps,” and the Wise ones prudently 
responded, “Ought’er brung yo’ own!” 

Victroly imploringly raised her lamp toward 
Omaha, “Giv’ me some o’ yo’ oil?” she entreated. 

“I can’t giv’ yo’ none o’ my oil,” replied that Wise 
Virgin, as a look of satisfaction overspread her face, 
“I’se got ter hav’ it ter go in wid the Bridegroom.” 

During the contentions of the Wise and Foolish 
Virgins, down the aisle there approached the Bride¬ 
groom, the Rev. Josiah Sprouts, and his attendants. 

The young negro preacher glanced to neither right 
nor left but, with measured tread and solemn mien, 
he neared the Virgins. 

The long-tail black coat and grey trousers, the im¬ 
maculate white tie and corresponding rosebud were 
in perfect harmony with the part for which he had 
been cast. One so grandly and properly attired was 
surely bound for the hymeneal altar. At the auspi¬ 
cious moment that he and his satellites reached the 
stage, the door at the rear was ceremoniously thrown 
open and the choir burst into song, chanting the 
words, “De Wise may enter, but de Foolish hev’ no 
oil. Dey stay outside an’ gnash their teeth!” 

Pushing aside the Foolish, the Wise Virgins joined 
the Bridegroom and en masse they made their 
triumphant exit. Then slowly and solemnly the door 
began to close upon them. 


120 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


The Foolish Virgins were deeply engrossed with 
their wailings, save one, who seemed motivated by a 
certain set purpose. 

Stealthily, this particular Virgin was edging as 
near as possible toward the door where the Rever¬ 
end Josiah was disappearing. The strain of pretense 
had quite overcome Victroly, and realizing that the 
beloved Bridegroom was about to go out of sight, 
she was unable to longer control herself. Unob¬ 
served by the other wailers she rushed through the 
slowly closing door. 

Only the quick eye of the young minister detected 
her action. 

Cleverly did he protect her advent while the pro¬ 
cession marched into his sanctum sanctorum, and 
then he closed the door upon them. 

Turning toward the emotional girl, he waited in 
questioning silence. 

“Doan shet me out, Josiah,” she moaned, “I doan 
wan’ ter be no Foolish Virgin!” 

Josiah gathered the trembling form into his arms, 
“Yo’ sho’ ain’t gwine ter be no Foolish Virgin,” he 
comforted her. “Yo’s gwine ter marry me an’ be my 
lil’ wife!” 

Her acquiescence was smothered by a tender kiss 
and he concluded, “We’ll let Omaha remain the 
Wise Virgin, won’t we?” 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 
A Romance or the Old South 

T HE June sunlight, filtering thro’ the honeysuckle 
vines, rested brightly on the gold brown locks of 
a young girl—almost as tenderly as did the fingers 
of old Mammy Celie. The buzzing of bees was the 
only sound, until the ancient servitor raised a disap¬ 
proving voice: 

“Dis heah bob-tail hair suttinly do disappint a 
body,” she remarked, shaking a perplexed white 
head. “Jes’ when yo’s all set ter gittin’ it breshed, 
an’ lookin’ fine, yo’s dun, ’fore yo’ gits started.” 

Dorothy’s bobbed head shook with mirth. 

“Why, Mammy, nobody wears long hair nowa¬ 
days except a few old fogies,” she protested, nestling 
more comfortably on the cushions of the broad 
swinging couch. 

“Well, honey chile, yo’ ma set a heap o’ store by 
her long hair an’ wuz mighty proud when it teched 
her waist,” remarked the woman who continued, 
“whut fer yo’ wanter look lik’ a boy, anyway? Ain’t 
nuthin’ purtier dan nice long curls. Yo’ ma uster 
set herself on dis heah side po’ch an’ hev her’n 


( 121 ) 


122 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


breshed in de sunshine. It wuz all brown wid de 
gold shinin’ thro’ it, but dat sho’ wuz a more con¬ 
centratin’ job dan dis heah,” and Mammy Celie gave 
a little pat of affectionate disapproval at the modern 
innovation. 

The young girl made no reply, but patiently she 
sat while the brushing continued. Not for the world 
would she have taken away the satisfaction she was 
able to give to this faithful old retainer by simply al¬ 
lowing her to perform such loving services. Well 
the girl knew the satisfaction Mammy had in min¬ 
istering to the child of her “Lil’ Missus,” and so the 
soothing hands continued to ply the brush, while a 
dreamy look stole into Dorothy’s eyes as she gazed 
out into the June sunshine. 

Only that morning had there reached her a very 
disquieting epistle which she now sat meditatively 
fingering. 

Mammy Celie eyed this letter speculatively. Her 
education did not permit deciphering the postmark, 
but intuitively she sensed it as being “furreign.” 

Suddenly Dorothy reached up and took hold of 
the brown hands above her head—hands of one 
who had cherished her since her orphaned childhood. 
Always when puzzled, had she turned to her black 
mammy for advice. 

“Mammy Celie,” she began impulsively, “how 
does anybody know when they’re in love?” 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


123 


The old woman patted the girl patronizingly. She 
then deliberately came around in front of her, and 
seated herself upon a low stool. “Now I’se jes’ cog¬ 
itatin’ dat dat wuz a’worryin’ yo’ ” and the ancient 
crone motioned her head toward the letter. “Well 
honey, dey do say dat lub am a powerful funny thing. 
When yo’s got it yo’ doan want it, an’ when yo’ ain’t 
got it yo’s got a misery a’yearnin’ fur it,” she con¬ 
cluded, shaking her head dubiously. 

“But eberybody lubs yo’, chile,” she continued, 
“why fer yo’ worry dat purty haid ’bout?” 

Dorothy drew the pages from the envelope and 
handed them to her confidant, while a smile played 
about her teasing lips. 

“There it is, Mammy,” and she pointed to the 
closely written pages. 

“Yo’ ’splain it ter me, honey, I ain’t got my right 
specs,” Mammy countered naively, avoiding any 
reference to her delinquent education. “Now ef dat 
letter wuz fum Marse John Trumball, I’d know it 
warn’t nuthin’ ter worry ’bout, kase everybody 
knows he jes’ can’t keep his eyes off o’ yo’,” and the 
matchmaker chuckled knowingly. 

“But Mammy, he never says anything to me about 
it,” and Dorothy shook her hair from her eyes and 
lay back and settled herself in the swing. 

“I’ll tell yo’ honey, it ain’t de sayinest feller whut 


124 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


means de mos’,” replied the sage. “Now, from de 
size o’ dat letter in yo’ han’, from dat furriner in 
New York, I reckon, he dun say a passel, but yo’ 
better watch des heah furrin people. Yo’ know, 
fur-off cows is got mighty long horns,” and the old 
head shook warningly. 

Dorothy smiled at the quaint saying and focussed 
her attention on a floating cloud. The pictured mem¬ 
ory of the last few months visioned itself to her as 
she fingered the importunate missive which now lay 
in her lap. 

At the time of her visit to her Aunt Molly in New 
York, this young Kentucky belle had gloried in the 
attentions of Woodruff Gale, the obviously eligible 
club man, obviously attentive, too, for they had 
dined and danced together; they had attended op¬ 
eras and theatres in each others company. In quaint, 
little out of the way places, they had gossipped over 
cups of jasmine-scented tea and at fashionable late 
supper clubs they had been noted speculatively. And, 
everywhere they had been, the eye of Aunt Molly 
had followed with approval, convincing Dorothy of 
the man’s desirability as a catch. 

The attentions of this perfect “catch”, however, 
were not as dazzling to the niece as they might have 
been. Had she been able to eliminate from her mind 
the face of her childhood pal, Jack Trumball, Wood¬ 
ruff Gale might have had a fighting chance. 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


125 


Jack had been Dorothy’s companion throughout 
childhood school days. It was only after her arrival 
at young womanhood that a feeling of constraint had 
arisen between them. 

The youth had never been a declared lover, but 
somehow it had been impossible for Dorothy to put 
him out of her thoughts at the times when Woodruff 
Gale had appeared most alluring. 

This letter, now, with its proposal of marriage 
from Gale had arrived 1 , and sitting in the sunshine 
with her old black Mammy at her feet, it was 
thoughts of Jack which filled the girl’s mind. 

Mammy Celie brushed away a passing honey bee 
and gazed solicitiously at the beloved young person 
in the swing. “Honey-chile,” said the anxious voice, 
“it’s a hard road thru life, but tak’ it steady an’ yo’ 
won’t stump yo’ toe. Yo’ ma, uster wuz upsot ’bout 
her beaux, many a time, too,” she continued reminis¬ 
cently. 

“Won’t you tell me about ‘uster was,’ Mammy?” 
begged 1 the girl. 

A gratified expression flitted across the old wom¬ 
an’s face. “Well, chile,” began the narrator, “yo’ 
ma—‘Lil’ Miss’ I uster call her—wuz sho’ a purty 
young gal. Her an’ her sister, Miss Molly, had all 
de high falutin’ finery dat could be bought fer ’em. 
Yo’ Aunt Molly, whut lives in New York, wuz a 


126 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


proud-like, strikin’, black-eyed young lady an’ alius 
hed her own way ’bout things, but my Lil’ Miss,” 
and Mammy paused lovingly on the name, “wuz all 
gentle-lik’ an’ didn’t never do nuthin’ ter hurt no¬ 
body. Her an’ her sister wuz de two mos’ consid’- 
rate gals ever I see. My Lil’ Miss would sing an’ 
play de pianny, an’ gether de flowers fer de house an’ 
go see ole Aunt Millie, who couldn’t git outer de 
cabin fer hevin’ rheumatiz. 

“Miss Molly spent mos’ o’ her time a’primpin’ 
herself. Nobody ebber realize dat Lil’ Miss would 
grow ter be a young lady, but dey sho’ made a mis¬ 
take!” Mammy chuckled in pleased remembrance. 

“One ebenin’,” she rambled on, “I wuz a’ lightin’ 
de lights in de front hall, an’ I heerd Lil’ Miss in de 
parlor jes’ a’singin’. I peep thro’ de crack o’ de do’, 
an’ dar she set at dat pianny, wid her grenedeen 
dress all spread out ober de stool, an’ her curls a’- 
nestlin’ down on her neck, all hugged up wid dat 
comb ole Marse dun broughten her fum de city. 

“She wuz a’croonin’ soft-lik’ ter herse’f an’ I jes’ 
stood dar a’list’nin’, ’till I plum clean forgits whar 1 
wuz. 

“Purty soon, I heerd somethin’ back o’ me, an’ I 
turn round skeered-lik’, ’cause I wuz a’feerd Ole 
Marse dun kotch me peepin’, an’ dar stood two 
young gemmens whut done com ter see Miss Molly. 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


127 


Dey hel’ up dere ban’s fur me ter keep quiet, an’ dey 
tip-toed to de parlor do’ an’ look in. 

“Lil’ Miss wuz a’singin’ ’bout, ‘B’lieve Me— 
Young Charms’ an’ dose gemmens wuz fair spell¬ 
bound !” 

Mammy paused for effect. “Well, Marse Wil¬ 
liam Scott he ain’t say nuthin’!” 

Dorothy’s eyes began to gleam with pride. 

“He jes’ stares an’ look lik’ he dun see a angel. 

“When Lil’ Miss quits a’singin’, Marse Tom 
Brown he clap his han’s an’ say, ‘Fine! giv’ us some 
more!’ 

“Well sir, Lil’ Miss she look up jes’ lik’ er skeered 
bird; den she rare her haid up in de air an’ march out 
o’ dat do’ past dose two young fellers, an’ all she say 
as she goes, wuz, ‘Eaves-droppers!’ 

“Marse Tom Brown fair nigh busted a’laughin’. 
‘Some fiery Miss,’ he say. “Marse William jes’ walk 
ober ter de window an’ look out at de flowers.” 

A mocking bird, perched in the honeysuckle vine, 
which screened the porch where Dorothy was sitting, 
began to warble to his mate in a nearby blossoming 
cherry tree. 

As Dorothy turned her head to listen, the bird 
stopped singing, and looking from side to side, flew 
away. 

Oblivious of the interruption by the impudent 


128 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


singer, Mammy Celie continued, “D’reckly, down 
sailed Mis’ Molly, an’ I heerd Marse Tom remark, 
‘Well, Miss Molly, where have yo’ been keepin’ yo’ 
HI’ song bird sister all dis time?’ 

“Dis heah nigger peeped thru de do’ an’ see Miss 
Molly throw back her haid, an’ say, ‘Has that chile 
been in here drummin’ on the pianny agin?’ 

“ ‘Not drummin’,’ says Marse Tom, ‘but singin’ 
an playin’ an’ doin’ it mighty well, too.’ 

“ ‘Singin’ lik’ a nightingale,’ says Marse William. 

“ ‘You an’ Tom are very polite,’ says Miss Molly, 
airy-like. 

“ ‘Oh, she sang very nicely,’ says Marse Tom, 
‘though of course / prefer the sound of your sweet 
voice—but I fear our friend William, here, is hard 
hit,’ an’ Marse Tom slap Marse William on de back, 
an’ he an’ Miss Molly laugh. 

“ ’Bout dat time, I heerd somebody cornin’ an’ I 
went on ’bout my work, but Sambo, de house-man, 
say dat when he wuz erlockin’ up de house, two or 
three hours later, he see Marse William Scott er 
standin’ outside in de moonlight, erlookin’ at de up¬ 
stairs windows thoughtful-lik’, an’ den he git on his 
hoss an’ ride away fas’. 

“Arter dat,” the storyteller continued, “it wan’t 
no use fer Miss Molly ter fuss, ’cause all de young 
gemmens done heerd ’bout Lil’ Miss an’ dey axt fer 
her when dey come ter visit. 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


129 


“Jes’ at first, Lil’ Miss wuz lik’ a skeered baby 
squirrel, but purty soon she laugh an’ dance lik’ de 
res’ ob ’em. 

“Marse William sho’ couldn’t keep way fum dat 
gal! He jes’ dar all de time, but Lil’ Miss doan pay 
no ’ticular ’tension ter him, ’cause she ’members him 
er’eaves-droppin’ when she wuz singin’.” 

Mammy Celie paused and smoothed out her clean 
white apron. Dorothy raised an interested face to¬ 
ward the old negress. “Go on, Mammy,” she begged. 

“Well, honey, it wuzzent long ’fore heah come 
’long a young gemmen named Marse Underhill, fum 
way off down in Georgy, cum ’er visitin’ in our 
neighborhood. He jes’ hang ’round our house all de 
time, fum de first day he set his eye on my Lil’ Miss. 
His nigger, Joe, whut he done bring wid him, uster 
cum ter de cabin an’ talk, ’bout how rich his marse 
wuz an’ how fine dey lib, an’ how many gran’ close 
he hed. Dat wuz sho’ de bragginist nigger ever I 
see, an’ I would’er lik’ ter bust his haid wide open, ef 
it would’er shet his mouth.” 

Mammy shook her own head vindictively and con¬ 
tinued, “Marse Underhill suttinly set up ter Lil’ 
Miss, an’ when Marse William Scott wuz ’roun’, 
she’d laugh an’ flirt de worstest wid dat stranger. Po’ 
Marse William couldn’t keep erway, but he looked 
mighty mournful-like hangin’ ’roun’. 


130 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“One ebenin’, when de res’ of ’em wuz gone, he 
stay an’ I heerd him axt Lil’ Miss ter see him a few 
minutes. 

“I wuz a’straightenin’ up de parlor, an’ I heerd 
’em on de seat on de porch, talkin’. 

“ ‘Are you goin’ to marry that man from Georgia, 
Sally Lee?’ he says, kind o’ stern. 

“Lil’ Miss turn her haid ter one side an’ look at 
him impudent-like an’ say back at him, ‘What do you 
care if I do?’ 

“De moon cum out o’ de clouds an’ whar I wuz 
a’peepin’ thro’ de shetters, I could see it right on 
Marse William’s face. He look lik’ his soul wuz a’- 
speakin’ in his eyes, but he doan say no words. 

“He reach ober an’ tak’ one o’ Lil’ Miss’ white 
han’s, an’ she jerk it ’way an’ jump up an’ run into 
de house an’ up ter her own room an’ leave dat po’ 
young man dere erlookin’ at de do’ she done went 
thru. 

“He know ’twan’t no use waitin’ fer her ter cum 
back, so he went home. 

“When I went up to Lil’ Miss’ room ter put out 
de lights, she wuz erlayin’ thar makin’ out lik’ she 
wuz sleepin’, but when I tip-toed out, I wuz sho’ she 
wuzzent fur I heerd her a’cryin’ ter herse’f. 

“Nex’ day, she hev’ a headache, but when Miss 
Molly axt her ter drive ter town wid her, she lowed 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


131 


as how she would. She ain’t let nobody know her 
worryment.” 

The loyal old retainer pressed her withered lips 
together emphatically. 

“Was that the time they had the runaway, Mam¬ 
my?” asked Dorothy with renewed interest. 

“It sho’ wuz, honey, an’ it lik’ ter been de end o’ 
Lil’ Miss!” 

“Tell me, Mammy Celie,” begged Dorothy. 

“Well, dis am de r’al truth ob it.” The story tell¬ 
er clasped her hands together and, gently rocking 
herself to and fro, began: 

“Yo’ see, Miss Molly thought she wuz so smart, 
she could drive anything, an’ when Adam axt ’em ef 
he wuz ter tak’ ’em ter town dat day, dat hard-haid- 
ed gal ’low she doan need ’im, she could handle dem 
reins herse’f, she said. 

“Adam said ‘yassum,’ but he told me dat dat bay 
mare wan’t safe fur no ’oman ter drive. 

“It wuz a purty day an’ Miss Molly ’low as how 
she gwine ter come home by de ribber road whut 
goes ’round de cliffs. 

“LiP Miss doan keer, but she caution Miss Molly 
’bout dat high-steppin’ bay mare; Miss Molly come 
back at her an’ say ef Lil’ Miss am a’feered she 
could come out from town wid de stage driver.” 

Mammy paused for breath. “My Lil’ Miss ain’t 


132 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


let nobody think she’s a’skeered, so she go wid Miss 
Molly. 

“Arter our young ladies finished dere galavantin’ 
in town, dey started back home, and when dey reach 
dat hair-pin bend on dat cliff road, who should dey 
meet right dar on de turn ’cept ole Mr. Boggs in his 
jersey wagon. De curtains wuz a’flappin’, an’ de 
harness a’rattlin’, an’ dat fool bay Miss Molly wuz 
a’drivin’ thought de debil hed her fur sho’. She took 
one wild look, an’ rared her haid up in de air, an’ 
when dat ole rattle trap passed ’em, she jumped off 
de side o’ de road an’ turned dem two gals down dat 
cliff!” 

Mammy raised her eyes and hands in awful re¬ 
membrance and Dorothy shivered. 

“Lil’ Miss say dey go down, down hittin’ a tree 
an’ den some rocks, an’ den dat light phaeton turn 
right ober an’ she an’ Miss Molly hit somethin’ that 
caught dere clothes an’ dar dey hung. 

“But de phaeton an’ dat foolish ole bay mare go 
right down ter de bottom wid a lot o’ rocks an’ kill 
deyselves!” continued the narrator triumphantly. 

“ ’Bout dat time,” she began anew, “ ’Long come 
Marse Underhill on hossback lookin’ ’round fer our 
blue grass whut he know don’ grow on no cliffs. 
When he comes ter dat hair-pin turn, he mos’ runs 
into Marse William Scott in his buggy. As dey wuz 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


133 


a’gittin’ out ob each others way, dey both saw a 
flowered hat covered wid dust layin’ in de road, an’ 
bofe ob ’em jumped ter git it. Lil’ Miss had worn 
it de day before an’ dey knowed it wuz her’n. 

“Marse William seed more dan de hat. He seed 
a piece o’ Lil’ Miss’ dress whut cotched on a post 
whar dat bay mare dun busted thro’ de fence when 
dey pitched ober dat cliff. While Marse Underhill 
stops ter pick up some bundles at de side o’ de road, 
Marse William runs to de cliff an’ looks ober. 

“‘My God!’he hollers. 

“ ‘Whut yo’ see?’ asks Marse Underhill. 

“ ‘Look!’ says Marse William, already startin’ 
to dim’ down. Way off he cotched sight o’ Lil’ 
Miss a’hangin’ ter a tree, an’ he call ‘Sally Lee?’ an’ 
she jes’ wave her han’ feeble like. 

“Marse Underhill run to de edge an’ look ober. 
‘Man, yo’ can’t go down dere ! It’s suzicide,’ he calls 
to Marse William, fum whar he wuz safe on de 
road. Marse William ain’t pay no mind. He jes’ 
kep’ on a’goin’ an’ when he reach Lil’ Miss, he grab 
hold o’ her an’ kiss her. 

“Lil’ Miss say, ‘Take Molly up, I kin hold on a 
lil’ longer,’ but Marse William never let go o’ her, 
an’ he say, ‘Hold on ter me, darlin’!’ He take Lil’ 
Miss’ sash whut done come loose an’ tied her ter him, 
an’ den ketchin’ Miss Molly, who co’se done fainted, 
by de waist, he started up dat cliff. 


134 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Well, honey, Li V Miss say dat young man clum 
up dem rocks by piecemeals, an’ my brave young 
lady he’p all she could, ketchin’ on ter branches an’ 
things ’til he got ’em mos’ on top. Den he raise Miss 
Molly up ter de road, an’ Marse Underhill pull her 
up ter safety.” 

The old woman paused a moment, then, lifting 
her head proudly she continued, “Den Marse Wil¬ 
liam lif’ his own lil’ honey up lik’ a lil’ baby, but she 
never did tell me whut he say ter her!” 

Mammy drew a long breath and Dorothy’s lips 
parted. 

“Jes’ when he had all untied dat sash an’ finished 
puttin’ her ober de edge, an’ started ter climb ober 
hisse’f, law’s a masey! ef de ground ain’t giv’ way 
an’ down he went, down dat steep place. 

“He sho’ would’er bust hisse’f, ef he hadn’t land¬ 
ed square on top o’ dat fat bay mare at de bottom!” 

“But, they saved him,” said Dorothy, soothing the 
old woman, who was panting with emotion. 

“Yes, honey, dey did, but ’twasn’t due ter Marse 
Underhill, ’cause he wuz a’kneelin’ side o’ Miss Mol¬ 
ly, holdin’ her hand. When Lil’ Miss see dis, she 
holler fer he’p an’ a overseer man cornin’ up de pike, 
heerd her an’ he clum down an’ bring Marse Wil¬ 
liam up by de cow path. Marse William wuz mighty 
shuck up, but he wuz so glad ’bout Lil’ Miss dat he 
done forgot his own hurts! 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


135 


“Marse Underhill he’p dem into de buggy, ’cause 
Miss Molly done come to by dat time. 

“Lil’ Miss ain’t pay no ’tention ter Marse Under¬ 
hill ’cause she done heerd him when he tel’ Marse 
William not ter come down dat cliff! Arter dat,” 
concluded the story teller, “eberythin’ wuz a’hangin’ 
high fur Marse William, an’ ’twant long ’fore he an’ 
yo’ ma wuz married—but,” she added, “I never did 
know when he axt her!” 

“Well, I reckon he did, Mammy, ’cause here I 
am!” laughed Dorothy. 

The old negress rose slowly to her feet. Auto¬ 
matically she picked up the comb and brush from the 
seat, and throwing the towel over her arm, started 
into the house. The old gossip paused at the door, 
however, as the sound of a familiar whistle reached 
her ears. 

Jack Trumball was at the gate. 

Dorothy’s eye fell on the letter in her lap. Then, 
in her haste to conceal it, the loose sheets fluttered 
to the floor. 

“Looks like some kind of a celebration,” ex¬ 
claimed Jack, springing forward to gather up the 
scattered pages. 

Quite unintentionally, his eye scanned some of the 
written words. From his stooping, he glanced up 
into the scarlet face above him. 


136 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


He arose and handed the girl the letter, holding 
her eyes with his the while. A bit roughly he then 
grasped Dorothy’s arms and stood over her. 

“Are you going to marry that New York fellow?” 
he demanded. 

A mischievous look stole into the girl’s eyes. Could 
the shades of the past be hovering near? 

“What do you care if I do?” she parried. 

The young chap turned and gathered her tenderly 
in his arms. No romantic moon shone down on these 
lovers. No restraining chivalry tied the tongue of 
this modern suiter. In the full glare of day, he de¬ 
clared himself in no uncertain language. 

“I care so much, little sweetheart,” he answered, 
“that I’m going to marry you myself.” 

Mr. Squirrel, sitting upright on the porch banister, 
favored them with a fleeting glance, then scampered 
away to gossip about them to his mate. 

Dorothy nestled her bobbed head a bit closer on 
the shoulder of the rough sports-coat. 

“But you have never asked me,” she taunted. 

Jack gazed at her fiercely a moment, then crush¬ 
ing her in his arms, exclaimed, “Well, you knew, all 
the time ! I had to wait to ask you until I had some¬ 
thing really to offer you. My book has been sold for 
a movie, and we can take our honeymoon to Holly¬ 
wood—unless I am too late,” he added, touching the 
tell-tale letter in her hand. 


THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 


137 


This accusing missive from Woodruff Gale, Doro¬ 
thy now tore into bits, and scattered them to the 
winds. 

“You are never too late, Johnny,” was all she 
said. 

Mammy Celie, on the other side of the half shut 
door, the squirrel peering from the branches above, 
and the mocking bird in the honeysuckle vine, 
watched sympathetically the kiss that followed. 

They all knew what the couple there were saying 
to each other, standing silent in each others arms, 
for love is the universal language. 


THE UNCERTAIN DEAD 


“ J’SE mighty sorry ter leave yo’, Miss Rita,” re¬ 
marked Isaiah, solemnly, “but, when yo’ feels a 
call and feels it strong, ’tain’t no use ter sidestep. 
De Ole Marster jes’ won’t let yo’ ’lone, n’ome, He 
won’t.” 

Miss Rita continued to arrange the bowl of roses, 
and Isaiah went on musingly, “ ’Tain’t dat I doan 
lik’ ter work fer yo’, but pears lik’ eber’t’ing pints to 
my callin’.” 

The negro smiled a serious, melancholy smile and 
continued, “Maybe yo’ ain’t pay no ’tention ter how 
I been a’settin’ yo’ at de table, lately, facin’ de east?” 

“Well,” answered his mistress, “I do recall that 
you have changed my seat recently, but I thought 
that you had noticed that I enjoy looking at the 
morning sun.” 

“Yassum,” answered the respectful servant, “I 
knows dat, but besides, dat’s jes’ one ob de things I 
does ter keep in practice fur de callin’ I’se feelin’ so 
strong.” 

Miss Rita lifted her eyebrows inquiringly. “Your 
calling?” she said. 

“Yassum,” replied the man, “yo’ see, we alius 
( 138 ) 


THE UNCERTAIN DEAD 


139 


buries people facin’ de east, so I jes’ nacherly had 
ter pint yo’ dat way.” 

Isaiah paused impressively and then, disregarding 
Miss Rita’s involuntary shiver, he continued calmly, 
shaking his head, “N’ome, ’tain’t no use o’ me but- 
lin’ when de Lord’s done called me ter bury His peo¬ 
ple, ’stead o’ feedin’ ’em!” 

Miss Rita shivered again; “Well, Isaiah,” she 
said, “if you really feel a strong call, I agree with 
you that it is much wiser to follow this new urge, and 
I sincerely wish you the best of luck.” 

“Not meanin’ ter contradict yo’, mam,” replied 
Isaiah uneasily, “but ’tain’t zactly ‘good luck’ busi¬ 
ness, dat is,” he smiled broadly, “ter de feller which 
causes it.” 

No answer, and the prospective undertaker went 
on talking, “But a fine funeral sho’ am a satisfac¬ 
tion!” 

He backed out of the room deferentially and Miss 
Rita suppressed a grim smile as she continued with 
her task. 

In the butler’s pantry, as Isaiah carefully wiped 
the silver and glassware—for he certainly could not 
leave until his day’s duties were complete—he solilo¬ 
quized concerning this new calling to which he was 
about to consecrate his future, “Ef de Lord ’pints 
somebody ter bring folks into de world,” he mused, 


140 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


his bright eyes shining piercingly from his round, fat, 
and usually jovial face, “an’ somebody ter he’p ’em 
while dey’s a’passin’ thru dis heah vale o’ tears, why, 
ain’t He done specify others ter he’p ’em out o’ de 
world?” 

Isaiah nodded his approval of his decision, for he 
felt that he was indeed fitted for this job. A deep 
and sincere love for funeral display had perhaps, 
partly influenced him in his choice of vocation, but 
there was within him a deep conviction of ultimate 
success. Also Isaiah had a strong leaning toward 
the flesh pots and his keen insight into the monetary 
consideration had convinced him that there was more 
money in the funeral business than the amount used 
to weight down a dead man’s eyes. When finally 
he completed his domestic obligations, he collected 
his wages and then a bit regretfully, bade Miss Rita 
farewell. 

“Ef yo’ needs me any time,” was his parting as¬ 
surance, “jes’ lemme know, ’cause my business ain’t 
no hurryin’ business, an’ a odd job alius he’ps along 
de treasury.” 

Miss Rita secretly hoped that she would never be 
in such dire need as to be obliged to recall Isaiah, 
good servant that he had been, for it is a far cry 
from funerals to salads. 

Then, leaving the house where he had served for 


THE UNCERTAIN DEAD 


141 


several years, the gentleman with a call betook him¬ 
self, somewhat hastily, to a certain side street and 
into the second-hand clothing store of Mr. Abraham 
Cohen. 

“What can I do for you to-day, Isaiah?” inquired 
that artful salesman. 

“I needs some black clothes, Mr. Cohen,” ex¬ 
plained Isaiah seriously. 

“Are you going to a funeral?” asked the solicitous 
storekeeper. 

“Not yet,” suavely answered the customer, “but 1 
’spects to, soon, leastways I hopes to.” 

Mr. Cohen smiled, but the sale of his wares was 
uppermost in his mind, so he made no comment, but 
turned to a rack of second-hand garments. 

“Here’s a nice pair of black pants and a long-tail 
coat to go with ’em,” he announced, stroking the ar¬ 
ticles tenderly. 

“How much is dey?” anxiously inquired the ne¬ 
gro. 

“If you pay cash, thirty-five dollars, but five dol¬ 
lars a week for nine weeks, if you gets ’em on time,” 
answered the Jew. 

Isaiah scratched his head. Five dollars a week 
seemed very cheap—and—he did not have the thirty- 
five in cash. 

He had already acquired quite a debt when he had 


142 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


taken over Bob Harris’ undertaking business, and it 
would require several months of prosperous business 
to pay that off. Still, a man in his profession must be 
properly dressed, so he decided on the time payment 
plan, and the bargain was closed. 

His optimistic disposition assured him that it 
would all come out right, for there was much sickness 
of various kinds in town, he reasoned, and none of 
the white undertakers took any colored clients. 

Taking his purchase under his arm, he betook him¬ 
self to his rooms above the undertaking establish¬ 
ment where he was to live. 

In the weeks that followed, all went well. There 
were several big funerals that brought in good cash 
returns and the new undertaker’s obligations were 
consequently met promptly as they came due. 

One of Isaiah’s funerals had especially attracted 
widespread attention. Brother Caleb Johnson, a 
divine of much renown, had died, and his congrega¬ 
tion wishing to do him great honor had decided to 
keep the sainted brother until delegations from all 
the surrounding towns could arrive to mourn with 
them. 

The Reverend gentleman was of such portly 
dimensions that everything had to be of extra size, 
and consequently there had been quite a profit for 
the man who furnished the equipment. Especially 


THE UNCERTAIN DEAD 


143 


had there been much excitement in the community 
when it was found necessary, in order to await the 
great funeral day, to pack the body in ice, and an en¬ 
tire wagon load of it was needed. 

Isaiah considered that this was the most profitable 
affair of the first few months of his work. There 
had been much display and consequently a large 
amount of money spent, and the provident negro had 
gathered in his share. Then came a long period of 
slack business and Mr. Cohen was still to be paid. 

Each day, Isaiah eagerly scanned the newspapers 
to see if any trade was in sight, but a persistant, fatal 
wave of health had come over the people. 

“Not dat I likes ter see folks in trouble,” he solil¬ 
oquized, “but can’t nobody miss it always, an’ when 
it do come, I jes’ as well be on han’.” 

Each day he dusted his stock to keep it in readi¬ 
ness, and then betook himself to a chair beside the 
door and waited expectantly. 

Mr. Cohen might be persuaded to give him a little 
more time, but there wasn’t much chance. 

One day, when hope seemed to have abandoned 
him and Isaiah was sadly dozing in his chair, he was 
awakened by the sudden closing of his office door. 

Jim Brooks came rushing in. 

“Hello, Jim,” said Isaiah, rising from his seat, 
“whut yo’ fe'elin’ so spry ’bout?” 


144 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Aw, I ain’t feelin’ spry ’bout nuthin’,” answered 
Jim, “I’se come on sad business!” 

Isaiah’s heart gave a bound. “Ain’t in trouble, is 
yo’ ?” he alertly inquired. 

“Well, not exactly,” said Jim, “yo’ see my wife’s 
mother jes’ died in one o’ dem spells o’ her’n an’ I 
come ter see yo’ ter git yo’ ter bury her.” 

Isaiah’s pulse lost a count or two—Jim was rather 
poor and business needed a rich client now. 

“Well, dat’s too bad, Jim,” he said, in his best 
professional voice of consolation, “but, sooner or 
later it comes ter all.” 

“Oh, I reckon it’s fer de best,” answered Jim, try¬ 
ing to suppress his enthusiasm. He turned to Isaiah 
who looked expectantly at him and continued, “Yo’ 
see, de ole lady ’blonged ter de Sisters and Brudders 
ob Heabenly Rest, an’ as I is de treasurer of dat or¬ 
ganization, dey hev specify me ter make de funeral 
arrangements.” 

Isaiah smiled. “Well, I’ll do it up fine, Jim, an’ 
de organization will be proud,” and he rubbed his 
hands together genially. “How much do dey want 
ter spend on Sister Smith?” 

“Well, dey usually ’lows two hundred dollars fur 
a member ob long standin’ lik’ her.” 

The business-like undertaker looked solemn. 

“Well, ef dey pays me in advance I kin git things 


THE UNCERTAIN DEAD 


145 


a lil’ quicker, an’ I tak’ it yo’ hev’ no pertic’lar rea¬ 
son ter keep her a long time?” he asked. 

“Oh no—no—I have persuaded my wife ter let us 
bring de body heah to yo’ establishment, as it’s near 
de chu’ch an’ buryin’ ground.” 

This arrangement agreed upon, the two men 
wended their way to Jim’s little house and soon the 
remains of Sister Smith were reposing in Isaiah’s rear 
room. Once or twice as he looked at her, the under¬ 
taker experienced a creepy feeling. He remembered 
the time the old woman had chased him angrily out 
of her kitchen when he had tried “keepin’ company” 
with her daughter ’Liza. 

But she was harmless now! 

He finished arraying Sister Smith in one of those 
nice dresses, all front, which were the style for such 
occasions. Concentrating on the front, you got a 
fine dress for a little money—and the back did not 
show, anyhow! 

He was glad to be through with his work before 
night arrived. He had never liked the old woman, 
and even in death she looked as though she might 
scold him at any minute. In his secret heart, he was 
glad she was silenced forever. 

Taking a parting survey of the room where she 
lay in state, when all was ready, he softly walked out 
and closed the door. 


146 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


It was a still, moonlight night and being July, the 
weather was warm. Isaiah turned down his one big 
oil lamp to lessen the heat, and went outside the 
door and seated himself under a tree. 

A delegate, from The Sisters and Brothers of 
Heavenly Rest, had visited him earlier in the eve¬ 
ning and had brought a hundred and fifty dollars to¬ 
wards the funeral expenses, the rest to be paid when 
the funeral was over. 

Now he felt in his trousers pocket and patted the 
money which reposed there. 

He decided to walk over and pay Mr. Cohen his 
debt and have that off of his mind. So he closed 
the street door and went on his errand. He was 
gone but a little while and when he returned decided 
to go directly to bed. He went to his room over the 
office, and prepared to retire. His mind at peace 
over his finances, he quickly fell into a dreamless 
sleep. 

How long he had slept, he never knew, but he was 
awakened with an eerie feeling, thinking he heard a 
noise in the room below—or was it in the room 
where the old lady’s body reposed? 

The alarmed negro pulled the edge of the quilt 
down from one eye, and peered into the darkness. 

Distinctly he heard that sound again, as of some¬ 
body or something moving about. 


THE UNCERTAIN DEAD 


147 


He shiveringly got out of bed, pulled on his pants, 
and tiptoed to the head of the stairs, which led down 
into his office below. 

The door to the room, where the old lady lay, was 
directly at the foot of the stairs and it would be nec¬ 
essary that he pass that door to reach the front en¬ 
trance of the establishment. 

Breathlessly he listened. 

The sound emanated from that gruesome back 
room. What could it be? 

Tales of ghosts and “hants” came to him. His 
kinky hair began to uncurl and rise in terror. The 
man with a call broke into a cold sweat and his knees 
fairly shook as he heard approaching footsteps. 

He decided to make a desperate rush for the front 
door below and to get ahead of whatever the thing 
was that was walking around down there. 

As fast as his shaking limbs would carry him, he 
crept down the stair. An indiscreet board creaked 
horribly beneath his feet, and immediately all be¬ 
came silent in that dreadful room! As the terrified 
negro reached his office, the threatening handle of 
the dividing door slowly turned. Isaiah gave a leap 
and landed in the middle of the office where he stood 
fairly frozen to the spot. 

That door had opened and in the dim half light of 
the room could be discerned the figure of Jim’s 
mother-in-law. 


148 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


She was rubbing her eyes as if trying to accustom 
them to the light. She was dressed as he had left 
her in her fine grave dress, but as her consciousness 
became more acute she surveyed her finery with sur¬ 
prise; her surprise turned to consternation, as hav¬ 
ing smoothed! the front of the garment, her hand 
reached behind and she realized her half-nude con¬ 
dition. 

Evidently she had not discovered Isaiah, and that 
gentleman tried in vain to make his feet obey his de¬ 
sire to depart. 

Sister Smith let out a sudden yell! “My Lordy! 
I’se done buried an’ a’walkin’ into Purgatory!” 

Isaiah, at the sound of her voice, fell on his knees. 
“Oh, Lord, save me from de power o’ Satan!” he 
wailed. 

The old woman paused at the sound of another 
voice, and then in the dusk she discovered the figure 
of a man. 

He was so overcome with terror that at first she 
did not recognize him. Slowly she moved nearer 
and as she reached out her hand to touch him, Isaiah, 
by supreme effort, made for the door. 

The light from the street lamp fell full across his 
face and the reanimated old woman recognized him. 

“Yo’ black debbil!” she shouted. “Whut yo’ mean, 
puttin’ me in dat dark back room, an’ in dese heah 
daid clothes?” 


THE UNCERTAIN DEAD 


149 


“Yo’s daid,” answered Isaiah with a shaking tone 
of finality. 

“Daid, is I?” screamed the irate old woman, as 
she made a dive for him. 

The man with a call upset a chair in his haste to 
get out of the way of the ex-corpse. 

“I’ll show yo’ jes’ how daid I is,” and grabbing up 
a broom the infuriated creature started after him. 

Down one street and up another the revived wom¬ 
an followed in hot pursuit until the cool morning air, 
blowing on her back, brought her to a realization of 
her costume and she gave up the chase. 

The frightened negro dodged into an open garden 
door and sank breathless in a flower bed. 

There was much consternation among the darkies 
the next day when it became known that Jim’s moth¬ 
er-in-law had come back to life. 

The trance, which the colored population had be¬ 
lieved fatal, proved to be only one of greater dura¬ 
tion than the many shorter ones which had preceded 
it during her long life. 

Miss Rita, the next morning, went into her garden 
to gather roses and was greatly surprised to find her 
erstwhile serving man sleeping soundly in the rose 
bed. 

He opened his alarmed eyes as she called his 
name, and sat up looking dazedly at her. 


150 


CHARCOAL SKETCHES 


“Why, Isaiah!” she exclaimed, “what in the world 
are you doing here?” 

Isaiah reached out and touched the hem of Miss 
Rita’s dress and reverently pressed his lips to it. 

“Please, mam,” he implored, “let me come back 
and buttle fer yo’!” 

“What’s the trouble with the undertaking busi¬ 
ness?” she asked. 

“Oh, Miss Rita,” he shivered. “I jes’ nacherly los’ 
my taste fur it! Yo’ can’t never tel’ when folks is 
whut yo’ thinks dey is, an’,” he added lamely, “I 
doan want ter eber heah o’ no more business lik’ 
dat!” 

He cast a pious eye heavenward. 

“De money is oncertain, sick folks is oncertain an’ 
doan always die—an’ eben de daid doan always stay 
daid—dey’s oncertain too!” 






























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